Muggle Studies
by Faithful Wheezy
Summary: It was a class he didn’t intend on taking, granted, but what could go wrong when it’s an extra class with your girlfriend? Too many things, apparently… can Ron and Hermione’s relationship survive the year? Sequel to Arithmancy.
1. Prologue

**Muggle Studies**

by: Faithful Wheezy

_It was a class he didn't intend on taking, granted, but what could go wrong when it's an extra class with your girlfriend? Too many things, apparently… can Ron and Hermione's relationship survive the year? Sequel to Arithmancy._

BEGINNING NOTES: **If you haven't read Arithmancy, I highly recommend you read it now before starting this**. Of course, you don't need to, but it'll be easier for you to understand some things in the story. To you returning readers, I'm really, really glad you're back. This story begins in the summer, and will progress throughout the whole year this time, so don't be too angry if this becomes rather long. Please review and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I own a _goldfish_ named Harry Potter, but that's an entirely different matter altogether.

**Prologue**

Ron Weasley was sitting slumped in a chair next to his window, peering out at the rain through the glass with the alertness of a hawk, even though it was nearly ten-thirty at night, his breath misting up the window panes. Occasionally, he would shift positions—left leg crossed, right leg crossed, or neither—cough a bit, or glance at the time—but other than that, Harry Potter noticed, as he watched Ron with amusement, the red-haired youth seemed perfectly fine keeping watch over the night sky and the precipitation falling from it, as he had been doing for the past two hours. Finally coming to the conclusion that sitting on one's arse without much movement for nearly three hours straight was not very healthy for you, he coughed to get his best friend's attention.

"Ron, relax, Hermione's not possibly going to send you a reply that quickly," he said patronizingly. "An owl, crossing a thirteen-hour distance in this weather?" he gestured towards the window, through which the two, now seventh-year boys, could see a gale unleashing its fury upon nature.

Ron shrugged apologetically and wrenched his eyes reluctantly from the window. "Yeah… you're right, Harry. D'you want to go down to the kitchens and get something?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. However, just as Harry had laid his hand on the doorknob of Ron's room, there came a rather agitated tapping sound coming from Ron's window. Catching sight of a large, tawny owl with Pigwidgeon crouching morosely at its claws, Ron immediately turned on the spot, narrowly missing hitting Harry with his swinging nightgown, and unlatched the window. Before the wind and rain could properly destroy Ron's room, the large owl and Pigwidgeon had hopped brusquely in, and with one loud hoot, the larger owl held out its talon, on which a perfectly dry scroll was clutched in its claws.

"Trust Hermione to think of a Water-Repelling charm," Harry said, grinning, stroking the large, rather drenched owl, which looked positively reluctant to go back out in the weather and inclined to violently bite whomever challenged it to do so.

Immediately falling cross-legged on his bed, Ron untied the scroll, in which two sheets of parchment separated themselves. "This one's for you, Harry," Ron said, tossing Harry the second sheet of parchment. Once Harry caught it, Ron concentrated on the words in front of him, in the penmanship he had learned so many years ago to love and cherish as more than just the right answers to homework questions.

_Dear Ron,  
__Why is it that we owl each other nearly every day and I still miss you? _

Ron cracked a smile at this statement.

_Speaking of owling each other every day, poor Pigwidgeon looked so tired—I didn't want to keep my reply waiting either, you know, and there _was_ a wizarding post office nearby anyway, surprisingly enough. I used one of the fastest owls they had, that's probably why my letter arrived so fast, if it did. If Pigwidgeon just holds on to its tail and flies along with it—assisted flying—the little chap should be fine. Dumbledore told me about a place here in Milan in passing, when he asked me where I was going for vacation back in June. There's a wizarding shopping center here too; it's called Vertík Alley, and I'm ever so glad I found it—not only were there many amazing stores to go around in with Mum and Dad, but the Italian roots are very prominent here, and it's amazing talking to all the shopkeepers and people (who understand English, anyway) and learning all I can about Italy. I'm learning absolute loads. I think I'm quite ready for our seventh year. I've already got all my books and things here (you should be getting your book lists soon, I just got mine this morning), and even a few things that you can't find down in Diagon Alley! I've bought you and Harry some souvenirs too—_

Here, Ron noticed two small parcels, which the large, tawny owl had perched upon.

_—__I hope you two like them. I really do wish you were here with me, Ron, although I don't quite think I'll see you at all for the last week of summer… _

Ron tried unsuccessfully to stifle a sigh while Harry watched in amusement.

_But as school isn't far away, I'll at least be seeing you quite soon! There's a lot I have to tell you, that I haven't told you in my past letters, and I'd really rather tell you and Harry as well in person. You can't imagine how pleased Mum and Dad are! But I can't say much, right now, I'll leave that to when we finally see each other again—oh, and Ron, just so you know, our fireplace is boarded up just like Harry's, so don't attempt to Floo to my house unless you wish to sustain some rather painful injuries; I really don't want that to happen, and I'm not returning to London until the day before term starts. It's just one week, and we'll be seeing each other again, all right? I can't wait until we do—I miss you so much, Ron!_

—_Love from,  
__Hermione_

Looking up from his letter, Ron found that Harry had already finished slightly ahead of Ron, as his letter wasn't quite as long. "So, er, what did Hermione say to you?" Ron asked, feeling his ears lightly tinge pink.

Chuckling, Harry rolled up his letter and placed it in his trunk. "Ah, nothing much—just a little bit about term and Italy, and a few things about my scar, although there's nothing to be worried about… it hasn't been twinging at all lately, and Dumbledore told me himself before term ended last year that Voldemort was going to lie low for the time being… what with Rufus Scrimgeour, twat though he is, becoming Minister of Magic; he was the most respected Auror, second only to Mad-Eye… he won't do anything tricky, thank Merlin." Taking one look at Ron's blushing ears, Harry burst out laughing. "So, what'd Hermione say to you?" he asked, adding a suggestive tone to his voice. "Anything important?" At this pronouncement, Ron only blushed a bit more, to Harry's great amusement.

"Oh, shut up, Harry," he said meekly, throwing a pillow at his best friend in retaliation. "She just talked a bit about Italy, you know… she's learning loads—hey!" he said indignantly, as Harry whipped the letter from his hand.

Harry nodded knowingly as he read the letter. "Uh huh… yep, knew it, she used their fastest owl—and, hmm… 'why is it I miss you when we owl each other nearly every day?'… 'I wish you were here'—huh, she didn't say that to me."

"She probably did, you mustn't have looked over it well enough—" Ron blustered, trailing off when he saw the great look of amusement on Harry's face. "Gimme that," he said rather lamely, as Harry laughed yet again.

"Ahh, we did a wonderful job, didn't we?" Harry asked reminiscently, lying back on the pull-out cot on the floor, lacing his fingers underneath his head. "The Godfather Gang, I mean, in getting you and Hermione together. Mind, it took a bloody long time, but it was well worth it, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, it was," Ron said grudgingly, now attempting to feed Pigwidgeon an Owl Treat nearly twice the size of its body, "like I've said for the thousand times you guys've made me thank you for the last half of the school year—"

"Which was well-deserved," Harry concurred imperially, to which Ron merely rolled his eyes. There was a slightly long silence which was broken from time to time by Pigwidgeon spitting bits of Owl Treat at Ron's forehead with questionable accuracy.

"Bloody idiot bird," Ron finally grumbled, roughly enclosing Pigwidgeon in his hand and stuffing it inside its cage.

After feeding the large owl some of Pigwidgeon's treats, Ron carried it to the window and unlatched it, beginning to attempt to push it outside, into the still-strong rain. Foreseeing a great danger, and not wishing to watch, Harry hastily excused himself—"I'll go down to the kitchens, Ron, I'll see you there"—but his speedy exit wasn't fast enough to escape the rather painful sounds of pecking and biting, coupled with Ron's vindictive yells of "Ger_roffme_, you idiot bir—aaargghhh!"

Wincing, Harry shut the door with a snap and hurried down the rickety stairs of the Burrow.

-x-

_Tap-tap-tap_.

"Ron, could you open the window please? There are three owls waiting on the sill."

_Tap-tap-tap_.

"Ronald!"

_Tap-tap-tap_.

"_Ronald_! Now!"

Sighing, Ron looked up from the game of Wizards' Chess he was playing with Harry and trudged to the kitchen window under the watchful eye of his mother, Mrs. Weasley, who was up to her elbows in dishes and soapy water. Once the three owls were let in, they immediately flew in, looking mildly wet and distinctly ruffled. "Harry, Ginny, these are for you too," he called into the living room. Relieving one of the owls of his own letters, he unrolled it and read through it.

_Dear Mr. Weasley,  
__We are pleased to welcome you back for your seventh year at Hogwarts. Do not forget that your term begins on September the first. A list of required books and items will be listed on the page following this one as usual; you may notice a few new things in addition to spell books; this is easily answered—as you and your classmates will be in your seventh year at Hogwarts this year, there will be traditions that none of the other years will experience. The seventh-year traditions, all obligatory and not listed in any particular order, are listed for your convenience._

Ron frowned a bit and turned the page. He never knew that Seventh Years had traditions during their last year at Hogwarts.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM  
__Seventh Year Students will require:  
__-Two sets of dress robes (one formal, one seasonal)  
__-One winter's coat (silver fastenings, no gold or diamond-studs)  
__-One Wizard/Witch's toga, white, request at Madam Malkin's or Twilfitt and Tatting's (although Madam Malkin's is highly recommended)_

_COURSE BOOKS  
__-The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 7), _by Miranda Goshawk  
_-The Dark Art of the Dark Arts: Bring Your Flashlight!, _by Quivus McTrimble  
_-Magic throughout the Millenniums for the Learned, _by Saproph Senescue  
_-Advanced Transfiguration, _by Chalfon Deinflectus  
_-Dangerous Plants for the Daring Herbologist, _by Acanthus Infestus

"Urgh, N.E.W.T. books," Harry grumbled from the couch across from Ron.

"Dangerous plants?" Ron said apprehensively. "For the daring herbologist? What if we aren't—daring herbologists?"

Harry, too, was staring down at his letter in disgust, his eye twitching slightly.

After realizing that simply staring at his letter wouldn't change the subjects he'd have to be taking, Ron blinked and turned the page.

_SEVENTH YEAR TRADITIONS  
_—_Seventh Year Christmas Dance  
_—_Seventh Year Graduation Dance  
_—_Seventh Year Toga Party  
_—_Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses._

_More may be added in the event that new traditions will be integrated. The ones shown above are traditions that have already been set in stone, are obligatory, and will occur throughout the course of the year._

Minerva McGonagall,  
_Deputy Headmistress_

Ron's head snapped up.

"Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses?"

"_To_ga parties?"

Mrs. Weasley glanced back at Ron and Harry with a fond smile. "Ahh, letters about your Seventh Year Traditional Activities, are they?"

Ron and Harry, still struck rather dumb, nodded, still staring at the parchments in their hands.

"What are Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses?" Harry asked again, looking at Mrs. Weasley in curiosity. "Did you have these as well when you and Mr. Weasley were in your Seventh Year?"

"Why, of course we did, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, bustling about the sink and wiping her hands upon her apron. "Your Seventh Year will be your most eventful—ours were, me and Arthur… oh my, yes, Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses—that's when your Head of House gives you one extra subject to take in place of the subjects you've dropped the previous year."

"What?" Harry and Ron yelled together.

"Yes, we had the same thought," Mrs. Weasley said, laughing at their outraged expressions, "but normally, if the subject you're taking is an Individual Referentially-Chosen Course, then you almost never receive homework; it's an old Hogwarts tradition that was created to give graduating students as much knowledge and information as they can get before they went out to work in the real world. Your father was given Muggle Studies… that's probably what pushed him to take such a strange liking in Muggle things," she said rather stiffly. With a resigned shrug, she continued, a little more lightly, "I recall taking Divination… load of hogwash, and that was even before Professor Trelawney—we had a rather… well, strange is rather too weak of a word, but, Professor Verrückt was quite a character. _But_," she said, watching Harry and Ron's mouths open angrily, "it was always a lot of fun, once I got over the thought that she was probably just making everything up as she went along… your Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses aren't designed to make you work. It is, after all, your seventh year, and what with N.E.W.T.s coming up at the end of the year, there's only so much more you can take."

"Are you given a N.E.W.T. testing on your Individual Referentially-Chosen Course?" Harry asked, still looking rather dubiously at the list. "Because that would be a whole load of—"

"Heavens, no," Mrs. Weasley said, looking rather terrified at the thought, "no, of course not, Harry, dear. Like I said, it's all given in good fun and the yearning for knowledge, nothing should be too difficult. And unless my memory deceives me, usually groups of friends are given the same Course… to ensure maximum educational intake. Ron, promise me that you won't misbehave? I really would like for you to learn as much as you can before you graduate."

"Yes, mum," Ron said, monotone.

As Ginny entered the living room (with the third owl promptly flying into her face, the letter swinging wildly from his talons), Mrs. Weasley went over to review her O.W.L. scores, Ron and Harry took the opportunity to give each other apprehensive looks.

"What d'you reckon about all these traditions?" Ron asked. "Should be a laugh, eh? I wonder what subjects we'll be given."

_**initium de **_**_alterum_**


	2. Mmmergdhfed

**Muggle Studies**

by: Faithful Wheezy

BEGINNING NOTES: Again, **if you haven't read Arithmancy I recommend you do that first**. Now, this _Harry Potter_ alternate universe of mine differs quite a lot from the actual Harry Potter universe of J.K. Rowling, so allow me to explain: Dumbledore is not dead, Snape is still at Hogwarts (although somehow I've mentioned Slughorn once or twice in Arithmancy by mistake… er, just take it all in stride), Voldemort has conveniently disappeared for Harry's 7th Year, and this chapter begins on the fine line between summer and the start of term. Anything I failed to mention will be explained in future chapters.

**Dedicated to Darkwing731**. She was my first reviewer and the inspiration for the word **mmmergdhfed**, of which you will find out about shortly.

Disclaimer: See prologue.

**One: Mmmergdhfed**

"Hurry up, hurry up, it's five minutes to eleven, and you lot can't afford to be late, two prefects in the family—of course I'm quite pleased, but if you three are late…"

Ron, Harry, and Ginny (who was sporting a gleaming Prefect's badge akin to Ron's) puffed behind in the wake of Mrs. Weasley, hurriedly trying to push their trolleys between rushes of hurrying Muggles, who eyed their luggage oddly, decided they needed a cup of strong tea, and bustled off even faster.

"Finally," Ron gasped out, as they reached the barrier of 9 and ¾, rubbing a stitch in his side. However, his rest was not prolonged, as Mrs. Weasley checked a rather strange wristwatch, clucked at it, and gestured towards them, begging them to hurry up.

"Mustn't be late!" she said, wringing her hands agitatedly. "All right, Ginny, go on—that's right—"

"Didn't see Hermione, did you?" Ron said to Harry, who was watching Ginny, out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry started and looked at Ron rather guiltily. "Hrn? Oh—er, no, I expect she's already on the train."

Ron looked rather glum and nearly got bowled over by a rather confused Muggle, who had witnessed Ginny lean and fall through the barrier of 9 and ¾, blaming it on a combination of sleeping medication, overwork, and his wife's horrible clam chowder. "What d'you think she was going to tell us? The thing that made her parents so pleased?"

"Knowing Hermione it could be anything," Harry said fairly, hoisting his luggage more securely onto his trolley, as Mrs. Weasley flapped her arms at him madly. "Come on, we better go." Eyeing the barrier apprehensively—it still looked rather intimidating after all these years, brick wasn't quite comfortable to run into, as they discovered in their second year—they took it at a run, Mrs. Weasley leaning into it casually behind them. As they disappeared through the brick, two Muggle men looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"What did you say your hours were, again, Jim?" the shorter man asked his friend, staring oddly at the barrier.

The taller man loosened his tie as though trying to assure himself of something. "Eleven-thirty to midnight five days a week," he said, sounding slightly harassed. "And you, Alan?"

Alan shook his head and turned away. "Ar, the same with me," he said. "We should petition for less working hours, eh?"

As Jim and Alan trudged off to the ticket booths, Jim muttered, "I don't think it helps that Ellen keeps making clam chowder for me to come home to every night either."

-x-

Once through the barrier, Ron and Harry were greeted with the smoky smell of the Hogwarts Express puffing heavily, as though impatient to start the journey, the sound of what seemed like a million whistles blowing at once, and Mrs. Weasley's voice floating behind them.

"Two minutes to departure," a magnified voice boomed.

"All right, dears," Mrs. Weasley said, hurrying the two boys along. "Has Ginny already boarded? Ah, there she is—have a good term," she said, giving all three rather loud kisses on the cheek once Ginny appeared at Harry's side, "be good, especially _you_," she said to Ron, fixing Ron's collar, "don't go and blow your Prefect's status, be a good role model to Ginny… oh, where'd she go? oh—Ginny, don't you dare hex anybody or I'll be confiscating your broom, do you understand me? Listen to everything the Heads say—and it's been a pleasure having you again, Harry, dear," she said fondly to Harry, giving him an extra hug.

"Thanks for taking me in," Harry said, as clearly as he could for Mrs. Weasley's shoulder was rather in his face, "I don't think I could've stood staying at the Dursleys' for another week—"

"Don't forget, our home is your home as well now, all right?" Mrs. Weasley called out as Harry, Ron, and Ginny boarded the train. "Be good, write regularly—" she was beginning to jog with the train, as it began to move, "and Ron, do not underestimate Hermione!"

"Do not underestimate Hermione?" Ron asked Harry incredulously, as they walked down the corridor. "Mum, I ask you…"

"Well she's right," Ginny piped up, "after all, this year…" but she trailed off suddenly, an impish grin spreading on her face.

"Right," Ron said uncertainly, and, turning towards Harry, he said, "well, listen, mate, we've got to go to the Prefects' Carriage—I'll be back soon as I can, all right?"

"Have fun with Hermione," Harry said mischievously, and, dodging Ron's hand, he waved to Ginny (Ron could see Harry's cheeks pink slightly) and walked down the corridor, where he was promptly grabbed by three pairs of hands and pulled into a compartment.

Ron, choosing to ignore the strange sight and his ears beginning to redden, he turned his back and headed towards the Prefects' Carriage, Ginny walking silently behind him. Sliding the door open, he muttered hurriedly, "Sorry if we're late, did we miss anyth—" when something fast grabbed him around the neck.

"_Ron_!"

Recognizing the arms around his shoulders, he grinned. "Hermione?"

Hermione pulled back, gave him a small smile, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, drawing a combination of nauseating "Aww"s and catcalls from the Prefects who were already seated inside the compartment. Disappointed at the briefness of the contact, Ron sat down sheepishly, expecting Hermione to take her seat beside him; but instead, Hermione strode to the front of the compartment and took her seat beside a boy, whose identity was hidden for Anthony Goldstein was obstructing Ron's view.

"Sorry about that," Hermione said to the compartment at large, her voice suddenly taking on a leading tone.

"Well now that we've had our enter_tain_ment," said an obviously disapproving voice, apparently emanating from the boy seated beside Hermione, "I don't see any new faces here—unless you count Weasley—not that one," he said exasperatedly as faces turned to Ron, "er, Ginny? Is it? Well, congratulations to being a Gryffindor Prefect," said the boy, as every face shifted directions to look at Ginny, who grinned unconcernedly at all of them. "And Wayne Hopkins, who's taking my spot as a Hufflepuff Prefect." Again, every face turned towards Hopkins, who was sitting near the front. As everyone looked towards the front towards the new Prefect, who waved lazily, Ron saw, as Goldstein's head moved, the identity of their new Head Boy.

Ernie McMillan.

And was it just his imagination, or was he sitting far too close to Hermione for his comfort? His blood pressure beginning to rise, he lost all concentration and dimly focused on the space—or rather, lack of—between his girlfriend and Ernie McMillan, not even noticing either of them giving their speeches and instructions. After what seemed like an eternity, Ron felt something sharp digging into his side, and, starting, he looked around confusedly.

"Come on," Ginny said, looking at him oddly, "we're supposed to patrol the corridors… are you all right?"

"Yeah—right—fine," Ron said, a bit too quickly. "Isn't Hermione patrolling with us? Since she's a Gryffindor?"

Suddenly looking rather mischievous, Ginny grinned. "Miss her, do you?"

Not wanting to disagree, but not wanting to agree to wholeheartedly for fear of Ginny smirking knowingly at him, Ron compromised by spluttering, "It's been nearly three months, you know…"

"Well you'll have to wait a bit more," Ginny said, now sounding slightly apologetic, "she's, er… patrolling with Ernie."

Ron paused a moment to let this unpleasant information sink on him. "Oh right," he said shortly, "Head Boy and Girl." The brother and sister walked on in silence for a while until Ron broke it. "Was that the surprise?" he asked. "Her being Head Girl?"

Ginny didn't answer right away, but peered in a few compartments before answering. "I think so," she said finally, after giving a compartment a strange look (whose passengers, incidentally, were Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, the latter three seemingly shaking Harry), "but you can never tell with Hermione. She always has something hidden up her sleeve. Remember her Arithmancy book?"

Ron inwardly winced. "How could I forget that bloody thing? Gave all of us a hard time last year."

"But it _was_ an essential tool in getting you two together, so it wasn't all that bad of a thing," Ginny said, rapping sharply on a compartment containing two snarling boys, one who was apparently in possession of the other's wand.

-x-

"Have fun with Hermione," Harry laughed. Anticipating danger, he swiftly dodged Ron's swiping hand using his mighty Seeker reflexes. Waving to Ginny (he could feel his cheeks glow warm for a small moment), he continued walking down the hall laughing quietly. As he began to look around for an empty compartment, he suddenly felt three pairs of hands grab him round the neck, middle, and his knees respectively and pull him sharply into a compartment. Giving a strangled noise that indicated shock, Harry fumbled for his wand as best as he could, expecting Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle jeering above him, but instead, looking up to see the faces of—

"Dean?" Harry looked at each face in turn. "Seamus? Neville?"

His three former kidnappers grinned at him and helped him up.

"Hullo, Harry," Dean said conversationally, as though he, Seamus, and Neville had not just tackled Harry and dragged him into their compartment. "Have a good summer?"

"Great," Harry said, grinning, remembering the moment when he left the Dursleys' forever, his last memory of them attacking each others' behinds as pig tails had sprouted out of, not just Dudley, but his aunt and uncle as well—completely by accident, of course. "Yours?"

"I found out that Trevor might be a girl after all," Neville said, prodding his swollen-looking toad glumly. "I'm not too sure, but Gran said that she had her suspicions…"

Harry blinked at Neville and tried to look pleased for him, although he wasn't sure whether to be happy or not. "Er, that's—that's great, Neville," he said heartily. "How about you, Seamus—Dean?"

"Aside from Mum nearly trashing the house after Ireland lost against Lithuania, pretty normal," Seamus said, prodding his shoe airily with his wand (untimely causing it to turn into a red stiletto, to the great amusement of Dean, Neville, and Harry).

"And mine was pretty much uneventful," Dean said. "You know me. Muggle mother. We spent most of the summer at the beach. How was Ron's?" he asked, grinning.

"The part he spent normally?" Harry asked, "or the part he spent reading Hermione's letters?"

"He had two summers?" Neville said, looking awed. "I didn't have two summers. Why couldn't I have two sum—"

"He did not have two summers, Neville," Harry said patiently, "I was merely dividing Ron's summer into two major parts."

"Then he only did two things over the whole summer?" Neville said, now wearing an expression of mixed disappointment and disgust. "Even I did more than that—"

"Erm, nevermind, Neville," Seamus said hastily. "What were you saying about Ron and Hermione's letters, Harry?"

"Hermione and Ron owled each other almost every day," Harry said proudly, rather not unlike a father bragging about his son's highest achievements. "I must say, we all did rather fine jobs, if I do say so myself."

"That we did, that we did," Dean, Seamus, and Neville uttered simultaneously. The compartment was silent for a moment as the Godfather Gang, sadly minus Bill and Charlie, leaned back against their seats and stared up at the ceiling happily. Then, Dean, Seamus, and Neville sprang up and seized Harry by the shoulders.

"What did the letters say?"

Alarmed, Harry feebly tried to shake them off. "Nothing important, mates, just—"

"They haven't broken up, have they?" Dean demanded. "After all we did last year, _they must not break up_!"

"Mmmergdhfed," Neville mumbled.

Seamus gave Neville a strange look. "Mmmergdhfed, Neville? _Mmmergdhfed_?"

"It's a word I use to indicate when I don't like something, when I'm disgusted, confused, or annoyed… or something," Neville said shrugging.

"Oh," said Harry, Dean, and Seamus together, as though finding that perfectly reasonable (although with Neville, it wasn't altogether unexpected).

"But seriously, Harry, Ron and Hermione must not split up. It is _crucial_ that they do not do this!" Dean finally said, shaking Harry's robes, as Seamus and Neville nodded empathetically behind him. "It is crucial! _Crew-shal_," he repeated again, emphasizing the last two syllables.

"Yes, yes, all _right_, Dean," Harry said, beginning to be seriously alarmed. "They haven't split up! If their letters had anymore love in it they would have been sending each other their own hearts."

Neville mmmergdhfeded.

There was a pause, and two figures in the shape of Ron and Ginny passed by the compartment, though not before giving them strange looks.

"Then why," Seamus asked slowly, "is Ron patrolling with Ginny? Why isn't he with Hermione?"

Harry frowned and walked up to the compartment door, peering out at Ron and Ginny's retreating backs, just in time to see Ginny rap sharply on another door. Half-wishing she'd rapped on their compartment earlier, then realizing how absurd a thought that was, he turned swiftly around to face the remaining Godfather Gang. "I dunno," Harry admitted. "But Ginny is a Prefect… that probably just means Hermione's Head Girl…"

"So she has to patrol with the Head Boy, right?" Dean asked, hurrying up to look outside the compartment as well. "Who is it, d'you know?"

Harry shook his head. "Dunno. But whoever it is, Ron's probably going to get jealous… and you know what happens when Ron gets jealous."

Neville nodded knowingly, shuddering slightly. After all, Ron had indeed thought that he had stolen Hermione from him frequently during the first half of last year.

Soon, Neville and Seamus joined Harry and Dean at the door, and in a matter of seconds, all four boys were pressing their noses against the door, straining to catch sight of Hermione and the Mysterious Head Boy, when—

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

The compartment door was wrenched open, and Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville went flying to the side, Neville landing in Dean's lap in such a position that looked as though he were straddling him, the Trolley Witch standing bemusedly in the door-frame.

"Mmmergdhfed!" Dean said with revulsion. "Darn you, Neville! Gerroff!"

Neville clambered off with difficulty and gave Dean an annoyed look. "You stole my word!"

"You were on my _lap_!"

"That wasn't my fault!"

The witch who pushed the trolley looked between Dean, Neville, and Harry and Seamus bewilderedly, and blinked. "Anything off the trolley, my dears?"

Dean and Neville immediately stopped fighting, and the Godfather Gang converged around the trolley, pulling out small moneybags.

-x-

After patrolling, Ron waved good-bye to Ginny, who went to a compartment with her other sixth-year friends, and went to find Harry. After three minutes, in which he stubbed his toe, accidentally swore at a second-year and later apologizing profusely when the aforesaid second-year threatened to owl his mother, and wandered around searching for the compartment Harry was in, passing Ginny twice and earning strange looks from her, he finally caught sight of Harry—well, his hair, at least—in a compartment. With a thankful sigh, he wrenched open the compartment door and was greeted with the lovely sight of his friends pigging out rather disgustingly on various sweets that they had splurged on from the trolley.

"Erm, hullo," Ron said uncertainly, looking at them and shutting the compartment door with a snap.

Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville looked up and waved melted chocolate-covered hands.

"Hi, Ron!" Neville said. "How were your two summers?"

Ron stared at him. "My two summers…?"

"Ner'mine 'im," Seamus said thickly, spraying Neville with bits of licorice wand and pumpkin pasty (Neville, of course, mmmergdhfeded). "'ow wuzzameading?"

"Er, what?" Ron asked, sitting down and accepting a Chocolate Frog from Harry.

"Shorry," Seamus said. Swallowing enormously, he tried again. "How was the meeting?"

"The Prefect's Meeting?" Ron asked, taking a humongous bite out of his Frog, though not before receiving a huge kick from it. "Er… great, just fine, why?"

Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville all shared apprehensive looks.

"Well," Dean said, chewing slowly on a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, before discovering that it was Doxy-droppings flavored and spitting it out, "did you—did you see Hermione? How are you two?"

Instantly, visions of Ernie McMillan flew through his mind—his close proximity with Hermione in the Prefects' Carriage—their hands nearly on top of each others'—patrolling the train alone, _together_…

"Ron?"

Ron's head snapped up, his eyes meeting the sight of Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville looking at him anxiously.

"Er, what? Sorry."

"How're you and Hermione?" Dean repeated.

Ron looked at his friends rather suspiciously. "Oh—us? We're really great, why?"

"No reason," Seamus said airily, tossing Ron a few pumpkin pasties. "Where is she, by the way? Shouldn't she be done patrolling?"

At Seamus's statement, Ron's face hardened and looked distant for a few moments. Yes, Seamus _was_ right… why wasn't she done patrolling… with that bloody prat McMillan, yet?

"Yeah," Ron said, using a little more force than he would've liked. "Yeah—where is she? She should be done by now."

"Who's our new Head, by the way?" Neville asked.

Just as Ron opened his mouth to answer, the compartment door slid open yet again, and an interruption entered in the form of Hermione Granger, whose arrival was greeted with many enthusiastic welcomes.

"Speak of the devil!" Seamus roared, raising a fistful of licorice wands, as though toasting to her arrival.

Hermione was taken off-guard for a few moments. "Excuse me?" she said, giving Seamus a strange look. "Did you just refer to me as 'the devil'? And one of your shoes is a bright red stiletto, by the way, do you know?"

"No, I did not refer to you as 'the devil'," Seamus assured her. "And er, yes—I'm quite aware about my shoe," Seamus said distractedly, annoyed that his attempt at concealing his shoe underneath a massive pile of Chocolate Frog boxes was discovered. "It won't come off, either—it seems to have stuck on, and I dunno how to take it off…"

"Come on in, have a seat," Dean interrupted brightly, gesturing to a spot beside Ron.

There was a pause in which Hermione looked around to the seat Dean had gestured to, and, discovering the identity of the person sitting next to it, a wide grin spread across her face. "Ron!" Hermione said, suddenly sounding quite breathless.

"Hermione," Ron said softly, all thoughts of Ernie vanishing as Hermione's face took their place. Standing up, he kissed her deeply (the Godfather Gang hugged each other and mumbled things about being proud) and pulled her into a warm embrace. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Hermione said, still sounding rather breathless. Once they pulled apart, however, Hermione's voice grew more brisk, playfulness glinting in her eyes. "Even though you owled me everyday, tried to Floo into my house—"

"—you stopped me, so I never even got the chance to try—"

"—not to mention we just saw each other about five minutes ago in the Prefects' Carriage," Hermione concluded.

"But I still missed you," Ron said sulkily, pouting and looking rather like a five-year-old who had just been refused candy.

The Godfather Gang rolled their eyes slightly at the mushiness, Neville, of course, mmmergdhfeding. At this noise, Hermione looked over at Neville, her eyebrows coming down slightly in confusion.

"Mmmergdhfed, Neville?" she asked, looking towards Ron, Harry, Dean, and Seamus for explanation. "That's not even a real word…?"

"It's a word I use to indicate when I don't like something, when I'm disgusted, confused, or annoyed." Neville said, nodding imperiously. "Or something," he added as an afterthought.

"Er… all right," Hermione said uncertainly. Noticing Harry sitting on Ron's other side, she chided to herself about being rude and gave him a hug. As Hermione pulled away, Harry patted her back.

"Congratulations, by the way," Harry said, grinning. "You're Hogwarts's new Head Girl, eh?" Dropping his voice, he leaned towards her as though sharing a confidential secret. "Think you can persuade the teachers to lay off us in docking points?" Laughing at her scandalized expression, Harry laughed. "Just kidding," he said delicately, stuffing a chocolate cauldron into her gaping mouth.

While Harry and Hermione laughed along with Dean, Seamus, and Neville, Ron sunk into another deep reverie at the words, 'You're Hogwarts's new Head Girl, eh?' He didn't quite know what was wrong with him, maybe he was just being paranoid… but he could've sworn, that after his long speech to the Prefects about being honorable and trustworthy, and that they had been given that position for a reason and they had better not befoul it, he had given Hermione a nearly adoring look as she took on her part of the speech. And he didn't like what he saw. Was he just being paranoid? He had to be…

"Mmmergdhfed," he muttered sullenly.

"_STOP STEALING MY WORD!_"

**_finite_**

-sings- _Deathly Hallows _is coming out tomorrowwww! Well, for some of us tonight; who's going to a midnight party? I've been waiting for this book ever since I was born. Probably before then.

Please review!


	3. A peaceful first night back

**Muggle Studies**

by: Faithful Wheezy

If you're a first time reader of _Muggle Studies_, PLEASE DON'T BE FRIGHTENED BY THE CHAPTER LENGTH. I promise I've learned how to shorten them appropriately as the story goes by. I'm sure if you scroll slowly, you'll enjoy it all the same.

I gotta hand it over to J.K. Rowling, she is the queen of ink and everything fictional. Yes, I have read and finished _Deathly Hallows _like, on Saturday-Sunday-ish (I had to force myself to slow down to savor it), yes, I finished it way too quickly for my liking, yes, dude, I loved it, but no, I sincerely doubt I'll need much in it for the story, so safely assured, there will be minimal, if _any_, DH spoilers in my story, or at least, references to things in the book. And if there are, I'll warn you.

Also, I hope you don't skip over the Sorting Hat's song; I'm really quite proud of how I got it turn out!

Disclaimer: See prologue.

**Two: A peaceful first night back**

**

* * *

****mm-merg-d'h-fed: 1.** _(n.)_ A noise uttered by a person indicating disgust, surprise, loathing, confusion, annoyance, and/or any combination of the five. Or something. _Neville let out a mmmergdhfed._ **2.** _(v.)_ The act of making the noise as described above. _When he discovered that his pet toad might indeed be female, Neville mmmergdhfeded. _**3.** _(adj._) To describe something as 'mmmergdhfed' is to call someone clumsy, or something as clumsily done. _The first and last time he tried to build his toad a nest would later be described as a disastrous, mmmergdhfed attempt. _**4.** _(adv.) _A clumsy or embarrassing way to do something. _Filch ran mmmergdhfededly from the dungeons in embarrassment._ Synonyms: _filchily_.

* * *

Their last journey to Hogwarts was very pleasant. Realizing that next year they would not be returning, much attention was directed out through the windows, towards the landscaping, the wild, untamed nature—but that did not decrease the lull in their conversation. Eventually, Hermione took a double-take at the window and stood up.

"I'm going to ask the conductor when we're going to arrive," she said, her eyes roving over familiar landscapes.

"Surely you've memorized when?" Ron asked incredulously, "After all those years you asked the conductor when we're arriving at Hogwarts?"

Everyone laughed, and even Hermione gave a grudging smile. "Well, I'll be back in a moment," she said, already turning towards the compartment door.

"Hang on," Ron said, making to stand up too, "do you want me to come with you?"

"It's not that far away, Ronald," Hermione said in exasperation, looking as though she was trying extremely hard to repress rolling her eyes. "Like I said, I'll be back in a moment." To assure Ron that she wasn't mad at him, she gave him what seemed to the Godfather Gang as a rather suggestive-looking grin, and with that, she slid open the compartment door and went to find the conductor.

Seamus let out a snigger, the many Chocolate Frog boxes on top of his red stiletto avalanching on top of Neville. "Aw, Harry, Dean, Neville—lookit, did you see the way she smiled at him?"

"Yeah, Ron," Dean said, smirking, "keep it PG-13, would you?"

Ron gave him a blank stare. "PG-13?" he repeated.

"Never mind."

As Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville argued about what Hermione meant in the grin she gave to Ron, the aforementioned boy was barely listening. He could just see now, Hermione walking up the corridor of the Hogwarts Express right now, and meeting Ernie McMillan—no, he was being absurdly paranoid, he had to be. With an effort, he shook his head vigorously to clear it and joined in the Godfather Gang's heated conversation about Hermione's Grin, and eventually, the troubled thought about Ernie cornering Hermione in the corridor faded in his mind…

Meanwhile, Hermione had reached the conductor's compartment. The conductor's hat was an odd combination of the basic conductor's hat, a wizard's pointed hat, and the bowler's hat that she had sometimes seen on Fudge when she got the chance.

"Sir?" she said quietly to the back of his head.

The man turned around, peered at her for a moment, and, recognizing her, gave her a nearly-toothless grin. "Aaah, Miss Granger," he said, squinting at her with his eyes that always reminded Hermione irresistibly of beetles. "I'm guessing you'd like ter know when we'll be arriving at Hogsmeade Station, ar?"

"Actually, yes I am," Hermione said, smiling. "Do you happen to know when—?"

Reaching up, the conductor tugged on the handle a long piece of old rope dangling from the ceiling. After waiting a few seconds, the train emitted one, long, loud whistle and a short toot that gave Hermione the urge to cover her ears. No matter how loud the sound was, she knew no one else had heard it save her and the conductor.

"One hour and a half," the conductor said matter-of-factly, as though a deafening noise had not just nearly punctured their eardrums.

Tugging at her earlobe as though attempting to make the buzzing noise disappear, Hermione thanked the conductor distractedly and left the compartment into the darkened corridor. No sooner had she taken three paces away from the door of the conductor's compartment did a figure just coming out of the adjoining compartment collide rather painfully into her.

"Ouch!" Hermione squealed, still holding on to her ear and falling to the floor. Her elbow made an audible crack as she hit the wood.

The person made a sound of shocked pain as well, but merely stumbled. Apparent horror had crossed the part of the face of the stranger that Hermione could see. The person crouched down and took his wand out.

"Merlin, I'm sorry, I really ought to talk to the conductor about making it lighter down here—"

"Ernie?" Hermione interrupting the rather pompous-sounding voice, recognizing it.

"Hermione?" Ernie's eyes widened in surprise and immediately winced. "This is even worse," he muttered, sounding strangely sarcastic. "I'm really sorry, I was on the way to the bathroom—can you get up?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course I can, I just hurt my elbow a little."

"Worse still," Ernie groaned. "Here—"

Grasping Ernie's outstretched hand with her uninjured arm, Hermione struggled to her feet and dusted off her sweater, as she was still in her Muggle attire.

"Why aren't you in your robes yet?" Ernie asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "We are the Head Girl and Boy, we should be setting an example."

Slightly annoyed and taken aback by his tone, Hermione said, "That's what I was going to the conductor for, to ask him when we'd be arriving."

"You didn't notice we'd been on the train for a while already?" Ernie asked incredulously. "And even so, you should've been in your robes already, at least after the Prefects' Meeting."

"I was with my friends," Hermione said, half-closing her eyes. "I suppose I might've lost track of the time."

"You're not still hanging around with those five hooligans, are you, Hermione?"

"Excuse me, one of those 'hooligans' is my boyfriend, another 'one' is my other best friend, and the other three are good friends of mine," Hermione said, her voice beginning to sound dangerously low.

"Even so," Ernie said, not seeming to notice Hermione's tone of voice, "it might not be a good idea to fraternize with them, it could mean something for your Head position and that might even be relinquished."

At the mention of the word, Hermione frowned, and visions of Krum and Ron flashed through her head. "I can 'fraternize' with whomever I choose, thank you, Ernie," Hermione said, a little waspishly. "And thank you for warning me about my best friends, but I do think I'll be quite able, don't you?" And, turning on her heel, Hermione began to leave, but unfortunately brushing her injured elbow painfully on the wall, not only hurting it where she had cracked it once more, but also hitting the funny bone.

"Ouch! Damn! Bugger! Bollocks! Merlin's effing pinstriped trousers!" Hermione streamed, hopping up and down rapidly on the spot, immediately clutching her elbow.

Ernie's eyes widened, but not at Hermione's injury. "Her_mione_!" he said, sounding rather scandalized. "You're Head Girl—"

"—thank you for informing me," Hermione interrupted sarcastically through her teeth.

"And you should watch your mouth!" His eyes caught a first-year darting across the corridor into another compartment. "That little girl nearly heard you. I don't think I've ever heard you curse before, it's the influence of those guys, I know it—"

"No, it isn't, and would you drop it about them?" Hermione said angrily, beginning to stalk off.

Heaving a hefty sigh, Ernie stuffed his hands into his pockets and strode to catch up with her. "Oh, all right, for now," he sniffed. "At least let me heal your elbow and walk you to your compartment."

Part of Hermione wanted to hex Ernie up and down the corridor for the satisfaction of seeing him roll miserably the whole way, but the other part—especially the atrocious aching part in her elbow—wanted to let him heal her elbow, at least. Finally, the throbs in her arm forced Hermione to relent.

"Oh, all right," she said, holding out her injury. "But you'd best not make it worse, or so help me, my Head status won't be standing in the way for what I'll do to you—"

"Listen, I wasn't made Head Boy for nothing," Ernie said, sounding a little stung. Whipping out his wand, he tapped Hermione's elbow as gently as he could. "_Episkey_." Immediately, Hermione felt her elbow grow very hot (during this interval, she made a slight involuntary movement to look at Ernie in alarm), and then very cold. Bending and straightening her once-excruciatingly-painful elbow, she nodded her consent.

"Quite good," she said, with the air of a mother talking to her child who had just shown her a pile of sand in his hands.

"That's it?" Ernie asked incredulously, stowing the wand in his robes. "I must admit, though I am quite modest I am indeed rather gifted in healing broken—"

Hermione rolled her eyes in amusement. "All right then, it's really good, thank you, Ernie."

Finally reaching her compartment, Ernie gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Sorry about, your… you know," he said, gesturing awkwardly at her elbow.

"It's fine," Hermione said, smiling slightly at him.

As Ernie began to walk back down to his compartment, he called over his shoulder, "Don't forget your robes later!"

Hermione shook her head and turned towards the compartment.

"Don't forget your _what_ later?" Harry demanded, as soon as Hermione slid open the compartment door.

"And what took you so long?" Ron blustered behind his best friend, his ears becoming a violent shade of maroon. "And why were you with him? And why did you forget your robes in his compartment?"

Her eyes widening in confusion, Hermione shut the door behind her with a snap and sat down in her seat next to Ron, who looked extremely bothered about something.

"We'll be arriving in about an hour and a half," Hermione said, ignoring the strange questions, finally deciding that her friends had had too many Chocolate Frogs. "I think we'd better change—"

"How are you going to change, if you don't have yours?" Ron asked Hermione, beginning to look extremely angry.

"What are you _talking_ about?" she asked, with an increasing suspicion that all sense had somehow Disapparated from the conversation.

"You and Ernie McMillan!" Ron burst out, pointing maniacally at the door. "You took ages, you forgot your robes there, and he walked you back, what was that all about? And your hair—it's messed up, what—"

"I fell, Ron," Hermione said calmly. Finally realizing what Ron was trying to say, and instead of being angry, she burst into laughter. Disconcerted, the Godfather Gang and Ron looked at each other, puzzled.

"Hermione, what happened?" Seamus asked.

Finally composing herself, Hermione managed, "I was coming out of the conductor's compartment, and I ran into Ernie," she said. Noticing Ron about to interrupt, she hurriedly continued, "He was going to the bathroom. I fell and cracked my elbow, we talked for a while about—" not wanting to tell her friends the real reason for their argument, Hermione searched her brain for a different reason. "We talked about—erm, Head Duties, he healed my elbow, and in an apology he walked me back to the compartment. That's all. And—about my robes, if you guys will notice, I wasn't wearing my robes when I left, I was wearing these. Ernie told me that I just ought to have changed earlier to set a better example."

Appearing satisfied with her story, the Godfather Gang relaxed and continued eating, while Ron said, "Oh—sorry."

"What on earth made you think I'd go behind your back with him?" Hermione asked Ron incredulously.

Ron fidgeted uncomfortably, while the Godfather Gang stuffed their faces slower and less loudly with sweets in an attempt to listen.

"Well, I didn't think—not you, but—the way he was looking at you at the Meeting—I—you know, I just thought…"

Hermione softened as she watched Ron bluster. Normally she would have been infuriated at his lack of faith in her, but she knew that it was merely because he loved her that much that he was worried.

"—and you know… you're—well you're beautiful," Ron said, turning a fiery scarlet, the Godfather Gang making exaggerated motherly sobs behind him (Trevor croaking along), "a lot of guys, you know—"

Hermione propped her head on her hands, shaking it resignedly. "I am trying my utmost hardest to be angry at you for your lack of faith in me, Ronald," she said, "but honestly, you're making it an extremely hard job when you're being so awfully cu—" Again, the Godfather Gang made throaty wails and nose-wrenching sobs. Hermione shot a glare at them. They stopped immediately; however, Dean continued to apparently sob soundlessly into Neville's back ("Mmmergdhfed!").

"When he's being so awfully what, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Never mind," Hermione said, reaching for her trunk to pull out her robes.

Ron gave Harry an obscene hand gesture when Hermione turned around.

Harry merely shrugged and grinned at him.

When the train finally groaned to a stop, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville all stood up. "Ron, remember, if you see any Gryffindors misbehaving, don't hesitate to give them a consequence, but make absolutely sure that it is serious enough, if it's playful pushing or things like that it's all right—I'm going to go remind the other Prefects—I'll see you in the Great Hall!"

"Aren't you riding with us in the carriages?"

Hermione gave Ron an apologetic look. "Head Carriages," she said quietly. "But it won't take long, I'll see you then!"

"Oh… all right, then," Ron conceded. Ron kissed her, and her eyes glazed slightly, then she waved at the rest of them and departed.

Turning around defiantly, he saw the Godfather Gang looking like they were restraining giving more maternal sobs with great difficulty. Sure enough, when the door slid closed behind Hermione, they let out loud, exaggerated sobs.

"Oh, shut up," Ron grumbled.

Instead of obliging, the Godfather Gang merely sobbed louder.

"Are you going to miss her, Ron?" Seamus asked tearfully.

"Shut it before I give you lines, Finnigan," Ron growled threateningly.

Seamus walked unsteadily towards Ron (his stiletto was roughly five inches tall, versus his normal trainer) and clapped him hard on the back. "Don't worry, I'm sure she misses you much more than you miss her right now—"

"Lines!" Ron interrupted, waving his Prefects' Badge in front of Seamus. "_'I must not annoy Ron, but if I do, I understand that any injuries I attain whilst annoying Ron is undertaken at personal risk'_. One hundred times."

Harry, Dean, and Neville burst into laughter, while Seamus looked despairingly at Ron. "I was kidding, mate," he said weakly.

"So was I!" Ron said, clapping Seamus still harder on his back, causing him to stumble forward and catch the heel of his stiletto in a dent on the floor. "But next time," he said, giving Seamus a serious look, "I might not be so lenient."

Seamus sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as though considering whether lines would be a good price to pay for teasing Ron.

"You're evil, you are," Seamus said grumpily across the table to Ron. They were in the Great Hall now, awaiting the Sorting, and Seamus was immersed in a parchment that was trailing across the floor. Neville half-stood and leaned across the table to read what Seamus was painstakingly inscribing on the parchment.

"'_Nor honey tons tummy_,'" Neville intoned. After staring at Seamus for nearly a full minute, he looked confusedly from the parchment to Ron, whose right eyebrow was becoming dangerously close to disappearing off his forehead.

"I told you to write _'I must not annoy Ron, but if I do, I understand that any injuries I attain whilst annoying Ron is undertaken at personal risk'_, mate," Ron said.

"I am, you prat," Seamus said, turning the parchment around so Neville could read it upright.

Neville blinked at the parchment and sat down again. "Oh. I knew that."

"'Nor honey tons tummy'?" A voice repeated behind Ron.

Whirling around, Hermione stood there, looking slightly exasperated. Moving over to make room for her, she sat down and looked enquiringly at Seamus. "What are you doing, Seamus?" But before Seamus could answer, Professor McGonagall had set the Sorting Hat on the four-legged stool that was standing on its customary spot in front of the first-years, and the rip near the brim of the hat ripped open to begin its song.

"_Long ago, in ages past,  
__With Hogwarts not yet created,  
__Four people met, friendship began,  
__And all involved were quite elated.  
__The four were wise, the four were brave,  
__The four were strong of heart.  
__Then great old Gryffindor declared,  
_'_A school is what we must start!'  
__They bonded hands, they built a school,  
__In which to protect the learning.  
_'_We shall invite the magical,' said he,  
_'_And also those brave and yearning.'  
_'_The yearning?' Slytherin had cried,  
_'_That would be a grave mistake.  
__We invite only the pure of blood, the true,  
__And neglect all who are fake!'  
__But fair Ravenclaw shook her head.  
_'_The blood line always dies;  
__We shall educate only the deserving,  
__And they must all be wise!'  
_'_And what of those forgotten?'  
__Helga Hufflepuff replied.  
_'_They may not be any of those things,  
__But they're still talented inside!'  
__And after much grief and trial,  
__The four good friends finally said,  
__That they would have to divide in groups  
__And each would be the Head.  
__So if you are brave and cunning,  
__Strong, smart, and then some,  
__Your talent should not go unseen;  
__Gryffindor is what you should become.  
__But if you possess a patient mind  
__And listen to your good heart,  
__Then Hufflepuff is where you most likely  
__Will become a part.  
__Or maybe a knack for knowledge  
__And a sharp wit instead  
__Will sort you out differently—  
__Here Ravenclaw is your friend.  
__Then maybe your strong determination  
__And greatness and power is for which you long,  
__Achieving it all is easy if  
__Slytherin is where you belong.  
_'_How will we know?' I hear you ask,  
_'_Wherever shall we go?'  
__None of you have the knowledge save me;  
__For only I alone know!  
__There are no duels, there are no tests,  
__You need not be afraid of that.  
__Simply place my brim around your ears—  
__I'm the mighty Sorting Hat!_"

The Great Hall burst into applause, and the Hat bowed to each of the four House Tables and stood still, waiting. "Thinks a lot of itself, doesn't it," Ron muttered sardonically, as Harry nodded his agreement, giving the Hat a strange look. Hermione nudged Ron reprovingly in the sides.

Throughout the Sorting Ceremony, frequent grumbles coming from Ron's stomach repeatedly distracted Hermione from looking across the table to see what Seamus was still trying to complete.

Finally, after "Yougherty, Jr., Octocus" was sorted into Hufflepuff and Professor McGonagall shut the long scroll of names with a snap, Hermione seized her chance as the slight buzz before Dumbledore's speech began. "What are you doing, Seamus?" she asked curiously. Seamus nearly upset his ink bottle in shock and glancing at Ron, who made a small movement with his hand across his neck, he faced Hermione, who was looking increasingly skeptical, and was about to open his mouth and say something when—

"Welcome!" Dumbledore said. "To our newcomers, welcome to Hogwarts! You will be taught much—you will be taught how to control your power, as well as discovering new talents. To old faces—welcome back! I hope your brains have not atrophied too much over the summer; and if they have, no worries! We will be refilling them quite soon. Now normally I would make a speech, but I am sure that you are quite as hungry as me; the only thing we will be refilling now are your stomachs! Speeches can wait, but food is impatient! Tuck in."

And as he spoke the last two syllables, he held his arms wide as though attempting to hug everyone in the vicinity, and the tables shifted slightly as dishes and dishes of food loaded them instantly.

"Yes," Ron said, and he immediately attacked a platter of chicken.

Seamus had made a huff of annoyance as a plate of steaming vegetables appeared right on top of his parchment of lines, and yet again, Hermione looked over.

"Seamus, what—?"

But she caught of Ernie mouth something at her, point to McGonagall, to Sprout, and shake his head. Shaking her head quizzically, she gestured towards him to repeat it; but Ron interrupted her, not noticing who she was talking to.

"Here, Hermione, would you like some savory soup? This stuff is brilliant."

"I'll bet Kreacher made that," Harry said, sipping at his own bowl of soup. "Hrmm… yeah. This is Kreacher's."

"But I thought Kreacher was supposed to be terrible?" Hermione said, taking a spoonful. "This is really good."

"He changed," Harry corrected her. "Thank Merlin."

"Oh…ouch!" Hermione's sound of understanding turned quickly into a yelp of pain, along with Ron and Neville's.

"Ouch! Damn!"

"Bugger! Ow!"

"Seamus!" Ron muttered through his gritted teeth, trying to look at Seamus through watery eyes. "Did you know, that if you wear a sharp stiletto and decide to swing your legs absent-mindedly, you are bound to hurt the people in front?"

Seamus looked up distractedly, and, realizing that he was swinging his feet wildly, halted immediately, looking sheepish. "Whoops—sorry, your Headship, ma'am," he apologized to Hermione. "—your Prefect Highness, sir—your Mighty Mmmergdhfedness, sir…"

"Oi!" Neville said indignantly. "You just called me clumsy!" ("Not that it's untrue," Dean muttered from Seamus's other side.)

Seamus blinked at him. "I did?"

As Neville and Seamus argued about the true definition of mmmergdhfed, Ernie tried yet again to communicate to Hermione from his seat at the Hufflepuff table. Pointing at her, and then to McGonagall, and then to the stairs, he shook his head, and repeated the same thing with him, only he pointed at himself and Professor Sprout. Hermione merely gave him a blank stare and mouthed, Come over here, then! but Ernie appeared to look fearful at being out of his seat and made a gesture that apparently said, "Later."

The dinner went on, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were attacking their desserts—well, the boys, at least—Harry, his fifth plate of treacle tart, Ron, inhaling two different plates at once, Dean, his mouth stuffed to the limit with iced cauldron cake, Seamus, his cheeks bulging with Chocolate Wandrops, and Neville, bits of apple pie falling from his full mouth. Hermione sat watching them in amusement, eating her trifle primly.

"Ron, how can you possibly have two desserts at once?" she asked, slightly disgusted, slightly amused.

"Easy," Ron replied. "I eat from this plate, then I eat from the other one."

Hermione rolled her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that day, while the Godfather Gang laughed.

"Now that we are all sufficiently sustained," Dumbledore said from the front, the food all disappearing (Ron had been in the act of stabbing another piece of éclair from his second plate and got nothing but a forkful of tablecloth, to his great disappointment); he walked around the Staff Table to stand in front of it. "It is my great pleasure to introduce you to two—I won't say new, because one of them is not—teachers: firstly, I would like to introduce you all to Professor Humptrumpet, who is returning to Hogwarts as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Humptrumpet has taught here before, roughly thirty years ago, right after poor old Professor Merrythought retired. An old friend of mine, Professor Humptrumpet is a very able Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and will teach all of you quite well, I am sure.

"As to our second addition, it is my honor to welcome Professor Roffle to Hogwarts! Sadly, as Professor Burbage retired, we are indeed glad to have Professor Roffle as our new Muggle Studies professor. Though he is new to the school, Professor Roffle has had an extended teaching experience at Beauxbatons Academy, and has transferred here once Madame Maxime heard that we were unfortunately, still one professor short. We are very lucky to have Professor Roffle teaching at Hogwarts."

The two professors Dumbledore had introduced stood up. Professor Humptrumpet was nearly exactly as his name betrayed—he was an extremely wizened old man, hunched over so much it gave him the appearance of having a hump, and an old, faded (and to Harry's displeasure), and rather moldy-looking ear trumpet hung from a chain around his neck. Despite most of his physical appearance, however, when Professor Humptrumpet smiled at the applause, all of his teeth were present and glistening white, and it gave his face a much younger appearance. Harry was sure his voice would be strong if he spoke.

Professor Roffle was sitting next to Professor Sprout, who wasn't looking exactly overjoyed with her seating arrangement. Professor Roffle, if anything, looked almost like a male version of Professor Trelawny—his goatee looked normal until the edge of his chin, however, the longer it grew, the curlier it had become, eventually reaching his waist. The very end of it was in a tight corkscrew. His hair was a color between blonde and ginger, beginning to grey, and it grew wildly about his head, giving him the slight impression of being electrocuted (probably whilst attempting to plug in a lamp, Harry thought wryly). He had horn-rimmed glasses akin to Percy's perched on his nose: however, his were about three times larger, and it seemed as though there were no lenses in them. He was wearing about three or four ties under his collar, and when the applause started, he waved energetically at the crowd, nearly knocking his goblet into Professor Sprout as though everything he did was brisk, bouncy, and careless.

"Would you like to say a few words, Professors?" Dumbledore asked his colleagues politely, turning toward them. There was silence for a few moments.

"I would just like to ask everyone who talks to me to speak up some," Professor Humptrumpet unexpectedly croaked out. "I am very old, and I have horrible hearing, it would be easier on the both of us if you would raise your voice a touch so I c'n hear you better." As Harry had suspected, his voice was surprisingly strong, though slightly hoarse. If he hadn't known who the owner of the voice was, Harry would have suspected a young man with a sore throat.

Dumbledore nodded gravely, as though he had heard nothing more serious in the world. "Anything you would like to add, Professor Roffle?" he asked the electrocuted-looking professor.

The aforementioned professor seemed to sit up straighter in his chair and beamed around the Great Hall, where he received maybe three smiles in return at the most. "I would just like to say 'allo," said the professor rather rapidly in a querulous voice, "to everyone, whezzer zey will be my students or not!" It was quite hard to catch individual words. "To those 'oo 'ave taken Muggle Studies before, be warned zat my teaching methods will contrast sharply eef compared to dear old Professor Burbage's. S'ank you very much, and I 'ope to see some of you in my classes!"

"Be warned?" Dean repeated apprehensively.

"Oh, is that what he said?" Neville asked Dean, watching Hermione across from Ron. "I couldn't understand what he was saying—Hermione, you've taken Muggle Studies, haven't you? How was Professor Burbage?"

"Well," Hermione said, chewing on a bit of trifle that she had enough sense to pull off the table onto her lap so it did not disappear, "she was… good. She taught us all the essentials, the theories. But compared to the way other teachers taught, she was… well, she was boring, honestly," Hermione said, looking nervous as though expecting to be killed—or worse, expelled—for insulting an old teacher.

"Well then, I hope that bloke means he's going to be a hell of a lot more fun than some of the other teachers, then," Seamus said robustly. "Did you guys see that part about the Individually-Coursey thingy in our letters?"

Hermione stifled an exasperated sigh. "You mean our Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses?"

"Yeah, those."

"What about them?" Harry asked Seamus. "Mrs. Weasley told Ron and me that most groups of friends would get the same courses, d'you think we'll be as lucky?"

"Ooh, yes, I did hear that from a few teachers," Hermione said, beginning to look excited. "I wonder what course I'll be given; I do hope I'll learn a lot—"

"What use will that be, brain of yours?" Ron interrupted her. "And anyway, you've probably taken every subject there is here—"

Any further things Ron would have mentioned was forestalled by Hermione impatiently stuffing a bit of trifle into his mouth. "For your information, I have _not_ taken every single subject in this school, that would be inhumanely impossible. Secondly, even if I'm given a Course that I've already taken, I won't be learning what I learned in the years I've taken it. Thirdly, they won't give us a Course we're all taking right now. It would have to be something none of us are taking right now, if we're all hoping to get the same one. I frankly hope that it isn't Divination… are any of you taking it right now?"

Ron, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville all shook their heads. Hermione groaned. "Merlin, it had better not be that, I can hardly stand that old cow—"

"—we know, Hermione," Harry said firmly, a sudden flashback of Hermione walking out on Professor Trelawny in Divination in the third year running through his mind. "Did I mention when you slammed the trapdoor shut, the crystal ball on our table fell off and nearly shattered on my foot?"

"Hopefully it will be something else, since there are so many choices to pick from," Hermione hurriedly continued. "Something useful…"

"Well, you never know, with our luck," Dean said morosely, absent-mindedly burning holes through the tablecloth as he prodded it with his wand.

"Any chance I could have any more trifle, Hermione?" Ron asked hopefully.

Before Hermione could go any further than a, "Maybe if you—", Professor McGonagall interrupted her with a sharp, "Miss Granger!"

Turning around, Hermione could see Professor McGonagall coming briskly down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

"Miss Granger," said the deputy headmistress once she reached the area where Hermione, Ron, and the Godfather Gang were sitting, "if you would be so kind as to join me, you need to receive your Head instructions now, before Professor Dumbledore allows the Prefects to lead their Houses to their Common Rooms."

"Oh—all right, sure—" said Hermione, looking a bit flustered. Giving Ron, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville apologetic looks, she handed Ron her plate of trifle and followed Professor McGonagall into the room Hermione remembered as the room Harry and the Champions had entered once their names came out of the Goblet of Fire in her fourth year.

The fire in the fireplace at the front of the room was blazing merrily, and in the squashy chintz armchair by it sat Ernie McMillan, with Professor Sprout sitting on the couch across from his chair. When Professor Sprout saw the two Gryffindors enter, she stood up from her seat and stood by the fire, while Ernie gave Hermione a brief smile, glance guiltily at her previously injured arm, and gesture to the couch.

"Go ahead and have a seat, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said once she reached Professor Sprout at the fireplace.

Hermione obliged and sat down on the couch Professor Sprout had been sitting on.

"Well, as you obviously know, you and Mr. McMillan are our two new Heads for this year," Professor Sprout said, siphoning off what appeared to be pumpkin juice on her left sleeve. "You have a lot of duties and tasks to fulfill."

"We understand that, Professor," Ernie said.

"Yes, well, there are a few more things we are quite certain you two don't have the knowledge of yet," Professor McGonagall continued. "You two are not going to take your place amongst your classmates in your dormitories at night."

"Yes, we know," Ernie interjected yet again. Hermione shot him an annoyed look.

"I didn't happen to know that, Professor," Hermione said. "Do you mean that we aren't going to be sleeping in our usual dormitories at night anymore?"

"No, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said. You and Mr. McMillan will be residing in the Head Tower. There you will have access to all four Common Rooms, and there will be a straight corridor leading to the Prefects' Bathroom if you wish to use it. The adjoining room will be where you ought to hold Prefects' Meetings, which you two may set up at your leisure. Might I remind you to hold them regularly, so as to change passwords, set down new rules, or so on and so forth. Of course, if there's anything that you two need help with, you know where Professor Dumbledore's office is, of course, Miss Granger, you know where I am, and Mr. McMillan knows where Professor Sprout is, correct?"

Ernie nodded.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. She was going to have to be alone with that prat every night? "And this is where we're going to live for the rest of the year?"

Professor Sprout nodded. "Yes, it is. And it's going to have to be, as that is where you can fulfill your duties most conveniently. You two may dock and award House Points, but we warn you, any abuse of this power and your status as Heads will be _taken away_. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione and Ernie said simultaneously.

"Do you have any questions?" Professor Sprout asked. "No? Well then, all right. Let us return to the Great Hall—"

"Hold on, Professor," Hermione said, remembering something. "How are we going to get to the Head Towers? I don't remember seeing a passage leading there before."

"Oh, that's right—" Professor McGonagall looked around the room and pointed in the far left corner in the same wall that held the fireplace. Looking over, Hermione saw a polished, mahogany door that she had not noticed previously. "If you go through that door, there is a short corridor. At the very end of it you will see an imitation of the Minnietree, I suppose you know what that is?"

Ernie started to shake his head, but Hermione answered. "Only a few people have ever tamed the Minnietree… Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff painstakingly developed it, according to legend," she said. "It is very dangerous; a Muggle would pass one by and see it as a normal shrub, but if you possess magical blood, then you would be able to see its fruit. But to be able to taste one, you would have to be deemed worthy by the Tree."

Professor Sprout nodded approvingly. "Well done, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor. I assume you've already began to read _Dangerous Plants for the Daring Herbologist_? Perhaps you know how the Minnietree deems witches or wizards worthy?"

"It's very fascinating," Hermione said breathlessly. "If in the event you are not worthy, a fruit will drop on top of your head. That may cause temporary or permanent memory loss. Ravenclaw thought that only the deserving—the wise—should be able to take fruit. She thought that only those who already had knowledge deserved more, not those who didn't know anything. Of course, if that's true or not, I don't think it was right of her," Hermione added, looking huffy. "If anything, people who don't have any knowledge should get some. But anyway, if you approach the Tree, and attempt to take its fruit, it will test you."

"Very good," Professor Sprout said. "And how does it test you?"

"You have to cast a series of spells on it, depending on what it does," Hermione said. "And if you are successful, you will be able to take a fruit—if it is consumed, legend says that you will become more intelligent, inspired, and receive the drive and perseverance to complete any uncompleted tasks."

"Magnificent!" Professor Sprout crowed. "Mr. McMillan, I am very surprised you didn't know half of this, you _are_ in my House."

"That's quite all right, Pomona," Professor McGonagall cut in. "Yes, Miss Granger, everything you have said about the Minnietree is correct. It is good that you know all this, because, as I have said, there is an imitation of the Minnietree at the end of the corridor. Now, do not make the mistake of eating the fruit that you receive from the Tree, because it is not real and might therefore give you some indigestion. I do not think Madam Pomfrey would take too kindly to it. Once you reach the Minnietree, it will attempt to keep you from passing through to the wall beyond it. It will grow large, catch fire, attempt to drown the both of you in leaves, anything and everything it can do. Also, as it is merely an imitation and not the real thing, it may be able to do some things the real Minnietree cannot. You two have been made the Head Boy and Girl for a reason, so you should be able to repel it. Miss Granger, I know that you have had to battle for your life in many instances with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, in addition to being top of the year, and perfect marks nearly every time you turn something in—so I know that you are prepared. Mr. McMillan, you are top of your House, top marks in everything you turn in, you should be prepared as well. But once the Minnietree deems you worthy, it will drop two fruits. Pick them up and you will be able to pass through the wall. Without them, the wall will be solid. Once you get fruits though, in the future it will be far easier to enter."

"Is that all, is that the only thing we have to do to get through to the Head Tower?"

"Not quite," Professor McGonagall said. "Once through the wall, you will reach a spiraling staircase—you _are_ going to a tower after all. At the very top will be the large statue of a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a snake. You and Miss Granger will need to divide your fruits and place a piece in the open mouths of each animal. Once each animal closes its mouth over their fruit, they will swing forward to expose a hole which is the entry to your Head Tower. Erm… be careful that you are not in their path when they open, it can be—quite painful. Are there any more questions?"

"Why is it so… complicated?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, we don't just want anybody getting in our Towers," Ernie said, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Well, that is true," Professor Sprout said. "With that done… Ernie, let's return to the Great Hall—"

Once Ernie and Professor Sprout had exited the room, Hermione looked at Professor McGonagall. "May our friends be able to come into our Head Tower?" she asked hesitantly.

Professor McGonagall seemed to think it over for a bit. "I think," she said finally, "that your friends deserve to be able to enter. But they will have to enter the long way, I'm afraid—the only ones who can enter the Head Tower through the Common Rooms will be you two and your Heads of Houses, I and Professor Sprout. But do not be lenient with whom you allow to enter, Miss Granger."

"I won't," Hermione assured her.

-x-

"—_do your best, we'll do the rest, and learn until our brains all roooo-hoooo-hoooo-hooooot!_"

Hermione winced as she and Professor McGonagall entered the Great Hall, noticing her teacher purse her lips, apparently trying not to betray a face. Once she had re-entered the hall, the school was beginning to finish singing the school song; she could make our Ron, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville's voices finishing off the song with an elaborate 'rot', and, glad that she had missed it, walked down to the table with Professor McGonagall.

"Mr. Finnigan, what is on your foot?" Professor McGonagall asked him, giving Seamus's red stiletto an odd look.

Under cover of Seamus blustering at Professor McGonagall that he was _not_ in fact a cross-dresser, Ron turned towards Hermione. "Where've you been?" he asked.

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "About that, Ron, erm… I'm not going to be sleeping in the Gryffindor Dormitories."

"_What?_"

"Ron, keep it down… I'll have to sleep in the Head Tower."

"With McMillan, you mean?"

Hermione noted the renewed use of Ernie's last name. "Not _with_ him, of course, separate beds and separate rooms—didn't I tell you that I would never go with him behind your back?"

"That's not what I was getting at."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Right," she said finally. "But anyway, I'm going to give you and Harry—and Dean, Seamus, and Neville if they want—instructions how to get inside, is that all right with you?"

Ron looked slightly angry, but calmed down somewhat. "All right," he eventually agreed.

"It's kind of a long process though," Hermione began. However, before she could say more, Dumbledore had clapped his hands together.

"Stars and moon!" he said happily. "Beautiful things they may be, but it is best to view them through closed eyelids. Your beds await you, as warm and comfortable as ever, and you must be rested for a new day of lessons. Have a peaceful first night back! Off you go!"

"Stars and_ moon_?" Dean muttered. "Dumbledore, I'm telling you—"

Seamus turned back to the table, finally shaking Professor McGonagall off. "Where'd you go off to, Hermione?"

But again, Hermione was forestalled as every student in the Great Hall stood up. "Ron, you and Ginny need to—"

"—lead the First Years to the Common Room, yeah, yeah," Ron interrupted, grinning. "I'll see you guys later, then."

"Ron, I'll tell Harry how to get in, all right? Then he'll tell you how."

"How to get in where?" Harry cut in, as Ron began to yell, "Oi! Shrimps!" down the table.

Hermione went to his side as people began jostling themselves out of the Great Hall. "How to get into the Head Tower," she muttered.

"The _what_?" Harry asked, looking incredulous. "You're not sleeping in the Girls' Dormitories?"

Hermione shook her head. "I wish I could, but it's more convenient to do Head Duties there…"

"Because you're my best friend, Hermione, I'm not even going to tell you how wrong that sounded," Harry muttered. "All right, how do you get into this Head Tower?"

-x-

"Blimey, that's long," Ron said, once he, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were in their Dormitory.

"Yeah, it is," Neville said worriedly. "I don't think I can remember all of that…"

"Well, you'll be with us, Neville," Dean said. "I wonder what it looks like in there, it must be huge."

"It must be," Seamus said, now attempting to prise the red stiletto off of his foot.

"D'you think Hermione might like a visit before we go to bed?" Harry said.

Visions of Hermione holed up in the tower with Ernie McMillan flashed through Ron's brain.

"Yeah, I think she might," Ron said abruptly. "Come on, let's go before it gets too late."

"Hang on—" Harry said. Reaching into his trunk, he extracted his Invisibility Cloak.

The Godfather Gang groaned.

"Harry, not that again—"

"Mmmergdhfed…"

"Why don't we just use Disillusionme—"

"_No_! Come on!"

"I see what you guys meant," Ron grunted. Squished between Neville and Seamus, it was very hard to move.

"It is much easier to move in here without Bill and Charlie though," Harry said fairly.

Dean, Seamus, and Neville nodded, shrugging.

"Though what I don't get, Harry," Dean said, jerking his head to avoid the Marauder's Map, which Harry was now unfolding with difficulty, "is why we don't enlargen your cloak?"

"Nothing works on this Cloak," Harry said, pushing open the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Who's there?" The Fat Lady squawked shrilly.

Harry ignored her and continued once they rounded the corridor.

"We won't be able to make this Cloak bigger, like I said, nothing works on it—_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_."

"Got that right," Seamus muttered.

"_Seamus_!" Harry roared, nearly jumping a foot in the air, causing the Godfather Gang and Ron to grasp at the Cloak around them to prevent it from flying off with Harry.

"What? What? What?" Seamus asked, looking around nervously.

"You—just—stabbed—my—foot—with—the damn—stiletto," Harry said, in between great gulps of air. "Watch—where you put—your feet…"

"Can't you take it off, Seamus?" Ron asked, looking down at the sharp, pointy high-heel on Seamus's right foot.

"No, I've been trying, and I don't fancy going to Madam Pomfrey… but if it's not gone by tomorrow I'm going to go, you have _no_ idea how much this bloody thing hurts—"

"Yes," Harry said, limping, "yes, I think we do,"

Seamus laughed nervously. "Sorry—I'll go more carefully, I promise."

"You'd better," Harry said darkly. "We're at the stairs—all right guys, d'you think maybe we should silence our feet?"

"We can do that?"

"I dunno, Neville, but we might as well give it a try—_Silencio_!"

Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville followed suit, and pointed their wands at their trainers—or in Seamus's case, his mismatched trainer and stiletto—to silence them (though Dean had to help Neville on his second shoe).

"Ready?" Harry said apprehensively. He tapped gingerly on the floor with his foot. No sound came.

Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville followed suit. Then, Neville began to kick out energetically, as though he were dancing. Soon, all five boys were tap-dancing silently on the landing in front of the staircase under the Invisibility Cloak as best as they could, reveling in the silence of it all. However, Seamus slipped—

Harry hurriedly silenced Dean just in time. Seamus had kicked out at Dean—in a spot Dean thought was most painful—and not with the foot that had the trainer on it—and Dean opened his mouth in a perfect O and let out an evidently long, pained, but silent, howl.

"Dean-Dean-Dean-Dean-Dean," Seamus whispered agitatedly, "sorry-sorry-sorry-sorry-sorry—"

Dean merely mouthed the words 'Damn stiletto' at his best friend's face and sank down to the floor agitatedly.

"Well, now you know how I felt last year," Seamus said reprovingly. "At least this was only once, I think you got me three times in a row last time—"

"Dean, as much as I sympathize your plight," Ron interrupted, craning across Seamus and a hunched Dean to look at the Map, "if we want to visit Hermione, we're going to have to keep moving—Filch is a flight ahead, look, we don't want him to come here, do you?"

Dean shook his head and got unsteadily to his feet.

"Right, here we go then," Harry said encouragingly, and the Godfather Gang continued their way down the stairs—

"!" Neville's yell echoed as he fell down the stairs.

"Shite," Harry spat. Filch's dot had stopped on the Map, right on top of them a flight ahead. Pointing at the ceiling, Harry muttered, "_Muffliato_," and sighed in relief as Filch continued up to the third story. 'Come on,' he mouthed to Ron, Dean, and Seamus.

With the absence of Neville, it was far easier to run under the cloak down the stairs, at the bottom of which Neville was feebly stirring. Hurriedly throwing the Cloak over him, Harry and Ron hauled the unfortunate boy to his feet.

"Neville, mate, you're a really great friend, but you are extremely mmmergdhfed," Seamus said exasperatedly.

"Sorry," Neville said sheepishly. "D'you think anyone heard?"

"Maybe only half the castle, if we're lucky," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "No matter. We're nearly there."

Quietly pulling the great oaken doors of the Great Hall open with difficulty, Ron, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville slipped inside—it was a bit harder for Neville, but he got through in the end—and looked around for the room Harry had went into as a Champion in his fourth year.

"There it is," Harry hissed.

Excitedly, the five boys reached the door in mere seconds. Ron, who was closest, pushed at the door: it was locked.

"_Alohomora_," Ron said, pointing his wand at the doorknob. With a click, the door swung open and they entered, shutting the door behind them.

The fireplace was not blazing as it had been an hour ago, but what Harry thought were fireflies were hovering near the ceiling, casting enough glow for the friends to see where they were going, without needing to light the tips of their wands.

"Now for a door in the corner," Harry muttered. After a few moments of every head turning to face a different part of the room, Ron said,

"There!"

Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville all turned to look in Ron's direction. A polished mahogany door, barely discernible in the low glow of what Harry had thought were fireflies, looked as though it were waiting to be opened in the corner of the room.

It was not locked. However, the corridor beyond it was dark, and the five boys lit their wands. Once they lit the corridor, all five had to stifle gasps.

True to Hermione's word, the corridor was not very long, and at the end, a large, gnarly tree stood sentinel at the end, looking about as peaceful as the Whomping Willow.

"Careful now, mates," Harry muttered. "Hermione said this tree was dangerous, it was in our N.E.W.T. Herbology book—"

"The Minnietree," Neville said.

"Hermione said we'd have to fight through it somehow, but I don't—"

"I think I know how."

Neville stared back as Ron, Harry, Dean, and Seamus all turned to look incredulously at him. "What? I—I like Herbology."

"Oh yeah," Ron remembered. "Well, how're we supposed to defeat this thing?"

Neville looked at the Minnietree, which began to writhe more violently, apparently sensing people.

"We'll—we'll sort of have to duel it."

There was a bang as the door behind them shut unexpectedly.

Seamus let out half a girlish shriek and jumped into Dean's arms, nearly slashing Harry's face with his stiletto. Dean mouthed what looked suspiciously like 'Mmmergdhfed!' and dropped his friend with disgust, while Harry stepped several paces to the right in an effort to avoid Seamus's foot.

"I don't need another scar on my face, thanks," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. "And I don't know how to fix wounds either…"

While Seamus attempted to get off the floor while Dean dusted his arms off vigorously, Ron and Harry roared with laughter, though Neville was still looking pensively at the Minnietree, which seemed to rear up at the sound of confused din.

Once Harry had calmed down enough, he looked towards Neville, who began walking towards the Tree. As the Tree began to grow larger and larger, Harry ran after Neville, stuffing the Invisibility Cloak inside his robes, with Ron, Dean, and Seamus at his heels. "What do we have to do?" Harry shouted.

"_Reducio_!" Neville yelled, pointing his wand at the Tree. Instantly, the Tree began to shrink down to its normal size. "We're going to have to duel it," Neville said calmly, turning to them. "Like I said."

"Watch out!" Harry said, as a branch came flying from behind Neville. "_Reducto_!" the branch burst into sawdust an inch before slamming into Neville.

"What kind of bloody tree is this?" Ron roared as the Minnietree burst into flames.

"Put it out! Hurry!"

"_Aguamenti_!"

"Someone unsilence Dean!"

"Oh—sorry, Dean—_Finite_."

"Thanks Harry—bugger!" a vine had wrapped itself around Dean and began reeling the boy towards the roots.

"_Relashio_!"

"Thanks Seamus," Dean gasped.

"No problem, mate, sorry about kicking you in the—"

"It's fine… is it just me, or is this corridor filling up with leaves?"

"_Merlin's pants_! It's going to drown us!"

"We have to Vanish them all!"

"So much for a peaceful first night back!" Ron yelled sarcastically over the crackling of the leaves as he, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville all set about Vanishing leaves.

After ten full minutes, the corridor was Minnietree leaf-free, and Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville sat panting in the middle of the hall as the Minnietree's branches stilled. At the end of the bough closest to the five boys, five blooms erupted and expanded until five fruits hung at the end of the branch. Silently, they watched the fruits shake and fall to the floor with a comical _plop_, _plop_, _plop_-_plop_… and _ppppplop_.

Reaching over, Ron picked up the fruits and handed one to Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, keeping one for himself.

"I think we can go through the wall now," Harry said conversationally, as though a gnarly tree had not just attacked them.

Each holding a Minnietree fruit as though they were tickets to a train, Ron, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville passed through the wall behind the tree, wincing before walking through, as though afraid it might turn to solid stone to one of them. But each passed through the wall safely, and Neville stared up at the long, winding staircase that was now in front of them. He mmmergdhfeded.

Seamus was the last to reach the top, and when he finally reached it, he collapsed, clutching a stitch in his side.

"D'you guys _know_ how hard it is to climb up the stairs with a stiletto?" he choked out to his friends, who were all looking down on him with amusement.

"It must be very hard," Dean said, his voice shaking from the effort of not laughing, "by the way you were managing."

"Shut up," Seamus grumbled, getting up unsteadily to his feet. "Let's just hurry up, maybe Hermione knows how to get this damn thing off…"

At Seamus's words, Ron immediately turned around to see the statue of the lion, the badger, the eagle, and the snake not far from where they were standing. "We have more than enough fruit for each statue," Ron said thoughtfully. "We could probably keep one fruit so the Tree knows we've been through before."

"Yeah—right," Harry said. "Come on, we have to put fruit in each statue's mouth, don't we?"

Harry put his fruit into the Lion's mouth, Neville in the Badger's mouth, Dean, the Eagle's mouth, and Seamus giving the Snake a wretched glare before stuffing his fruit none-too-gently into the coiling stone snake's mouth. Ron stowed his piece into his robes. After a pause, the Lion clamped its jaws around the fruit, followed by the other three statues, making successive _clunk_ing noises. Once the snake clamped its jaws around the fruit, the Lion let out a roar and the statue swung forward (catching Neville, who was in its path, sending the unfortunate boy flying).

Grinning, Ron stepped through the hole the statue revealed into the Head Tower. "Hermione?" he called out. However, his grin was immediately wiped off of his face, and his jaw dropped.

_**finite**_


	4. Don't kiss him!

**Muggle Studies**

by: Faithful Wheezy

All right; my internet is being a total _vacca foeda_… a stupid cow, to you. But no matter, it doesn't matter what I think of my internet right now as long as you think this chapter is good. And hopefully, it should dually satisfy and exasperate you. Please review and enjoy!

Disclaimer: See prologue.

**Three: Don't kiss him!  
**

_Grinning, Ron stepped through the hole the statue revealed into the Head Tower. "Hermione?" he called out. However, his grin was immediately wiped off of his face, and his jaw dropped._

At first, Ron simply stared, his jaw practically scraping the stone floor. Then in one, fluid motion, Ron paled, retched, covered his eyes, and swiftly turned around. "_Ernie_!" he yelled, sounding scandalized. "Put an effing pyjama shirt on or something!"

His curiosity aroused, Harry peered around Ron's rigid body and immediately found the urge to turn around as well. Standing a few paces away from the door frame stood Ernie McMillan, wearing nothing but boxers, his rather droopy stomach exposed for all present to see. Standing in the middle of what seemed to be a gigantic, private common room, looking rather gormless as he stared at Ron and Harry (who stared back equally shocked), he immediately seized a nearby couch pillow and held it in front of his naked torso, his pinky fingers sticking out rather femininely.

"What in bloody _blazes_ are you _doing_ here?" their Head Boy roared at the assembly.

Dean, Seamus, and Neville, who before now, had not yet seen Ernie yet, forced their way through Ron and Harry to see what the fuss was all about, only to swiftly back out of the room yet again. Taken completely off guard by the appearance of more 'hooligans', Ernie let out a strangled "Yaaaagh!" and dived behind the largest couch. After a few moments of extremely awkward silence, Ernie poked his head out from behind the couch and shot Harry an extremely vindictive look, as he was the only one who hadn't backed out of the room—although granted, Harry did look slightly disgusted.

"Mmmergdhfed," Neville muttered, sounding rather ill.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked loudly. "Why out? Why now? Why here at all?" Over on the mantle, a potted plant toppled off at the vibration his voice caused, caught itself an inch before it hit the ground, and levitated calmly back to its original position. "I am Head Boy!" he continued, rather unnecessarily, pointing a shaking index finger in the air for emphasis. "You should all be in trouble for being out this late—"

"—put a shirt on and then we'll talk to you!" Ron interrupted, rather thickly, as his head was buried in his arms to save himself from having to look at Ernie and his pyjamas—or rather, half a lack of.

Giving a sound that sounded like a cross between a huff and a snort, Ernie said, "Oh—all right, then. Well, get in, you five, come on…"

Once Neville had hopped smartly onto the doormat, predictably stumbling over his own feet and having to regain his balance by seizing Seamus around the neck (who in turn stumbled due to uneven platforms caused by his stiletto), Ernie snuffed—snorted and huffed—muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Typical", and pointed his wand at the statue-door behind them, which immediately swung closed (the force causing Neville to stumble forward yet again).

"Now," Ernie said stiffly, "what are you doing here?"

Ron, whose face was still hidden beneath his hands, said, "Put a shirt on!" whilst Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, who were doing the same and averting their gaze from their respectable Head Boy, echoed his words.

"You have no right to tell your Head Boy what to do!"

"PUT A SHIRT ON!"

Ernie hesitated, and then snuffed once more.

"All right, all right…"

Once Ernie had disappeared into a far room, Ron took his face gingerly from the safety of his hands and peered around nervously.

"Is he gone?" he asked.

Harry waited a few moments, but Ernie had not yet returned. "Yeah, I guess so," he said. Walking over to the couch, he sat down, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville following suit. "Where's Hermione? She's Head Girl, shouldn't she be here?"

Ron seemed to perk up. "Where is she?" he said, looking around the room eagerly, as though hoping she might pop up unexpectedly from a mosaic pot.

"You reckon _she'll_ have her pyjama shirt on?" Seamus asked slyly. Sensing immediate danger, he dropped down on the floor, narrowly missing Ron's balled fist, and emerged from behind the back of the couch, grinning. "Kidding, mate," he said hastily, as Ron's eyebrows furrowed. "Or was I?" he said, musingly, stroking his chin, as Ron settled back down on the cushions. As he whirled around yet again, Seamus held up his arms protectively. "Just kidding, just kidding!"

"You better be," Ron said darkly, as he settled onto a separate armchair so as to be able to view Seamus directly without him being out of his sight, "or you'll be getting more lines again, and I won't be as lenient."

"You call one hundred times _lenient_?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

"I'll bet even Hermione's pretty cruel to you; if she didn't whip you too hard, would _that_ be your idea of lenie—_kidding_—!"

But Ron had already taken a flying leap from the armchair and rugby-tackled Seamus, pinning him to the ground.

"_Weasley_!"

Ernie McMillan had returned, thankfully this time, wearing a plaid pyjama shirt, and a night cap jammed haphazardly on the top of his head; despite the homely appearance, however, Ernie looked livid. "Get off Finnigan!" he said angrily, making to stride across the room to pull Ron off, but there was no need—Ron had already let Seamus up, looking rather grumpy.

"Just roughing around," he said gruffly.

"All the same, you are a Prefect," Ernie said through his teeth, seeming as though he didn't believe Professor Dumbledore had been in his right mind when he made Ron a Prefect. "Younger children… look… up to you," he said with a forced effort, "and you don't want to give them the wrong idea—if I see you doing that again I might report you to—"

"—yeah—right," Ron said, sounding distracted. "D'you know where Hermione is? We were going to visit in before we went to bed, see how she's doing here."

At this remark, Ernie looked oddly annoyed, and then turned around, busying himself with a teacup that had been lying on the coffee table. "Fancy a cup of tea?" he said finally, still not looking at Ron, Harry, or the others.

"You have a kitchen in here?" Dean asked interestedly, craning his neck as though hoping to catch sight of an ice box or a pyramid of Jell-O.

"Oh, no," Ernie said, now looking relieved as he turned around. "We have access to the kitchens, you know."

"Do you?" Seamus asked. "What else do you have access to? Teachers' Lounge?"

Ernie carried his teacup and saucer over to a counter along an opposite wall, apparently refilling it for himself. "Never as good as the original," he muttered. "Sorry, Finnigan, what did you say?"

"Can you get to the Teachers' Lounge from here?"

"The Teachers' Lounge?" Ernie asked, taking a sip from his cup, grimacing slightly. "Well, we don't have SPELL to it, if that's what you mean."

"Sorry," Harry said, "but, what?"

"Oh, sorry, S.P.E.L.L.—Straightforward Portrait Entry Liberated Levels," Ernie said as he sat down in the armchair Ron had sat down in previously. "Or otherwise Direct Portrait Access, to you." At their blank faces, Ernie sighed and said, "Without the SPELL, we can't use a single portrait to a specific room. But this Tower have SPELLs to all the Common Rooms in here, and the Kitchens, and a few other places I think—but we don't have direct Portraits to places like the Prefects' Bathrooms and the Teachers' Lounge—we have to go through a few corridors for those. When you guys leave you can leave through a SPELL to the Gryffindor Common Rooms, but you can't back through them here though—only we Heads can do that."

"Speaking of Heads," Ron interrupted, "where's our other one? You know—Hermione?"

Again, a slightly irritated look flitted across Ernie's face, then, setting his teacup carefully on the coffee table he said, "She should be back here shortly. After she took her bath she went to tack up notices on the Notice Boards in the common rooms."

There was a clatter as Ron's knees hit the edge of Ernie's saucer as he stood up quickly. Harry instinctively grabbed Ron's elbows to restrain him from crossing over to where Ernie sat. "After she took her what?"

Ernie looked confused. "Er, what?"

"After she took her _what_?" Ron repeated, his ears slowly reddening.

"After she took her bath," Ernie said calmly, still looking bewildered.

"Ron—sit—down," Harry grunted, attempting to pull Ron back onto the couch. Finally, after a pregnant pause, Ron allowed Harry to yank him back down on the cushions. However, he had not yet let the matter go. "Where are your bathrooms anyway?" he demanded. "D'you two get separate ones?"

The Godfather Gang seemed to shift as one in embarrassment, Harry fidgeting as though he would like to sit a few feet apart from Ron. However, totally overlooking their discomfiture, Ernie answered.

"Yeah, we do," the bewildered look on Ernie's face ebbing away to one of understanding embarrassment. "Although we can use the Prefects' Bathroom if we want to have an interesting bubble bath—"

With an effort, Harry leaned heavily on Ron to restrain him from leaping on top of their Head Boy, the thought of which was apparently on Ron's mind. Just when Harry thought he couldn't hold Ron down any longer, there came a sound like a door banging shut coming from a hallway and a voice following, the only sound that could ever distract Ron from beating anyone to a pulp.

"Ernie? I already put up the last ones in the Hufflepuff Common Room a while ago, but I stopped for a pot of tea, so I just came from the Kitchen. It might taste different, because I made this pot myself—honestly, those poor elves have enough to do, I should talk to Professor Dumbledore about their captivity, I really should, now that I have higher status… so anyway, I thought you might've finished the first one—"

Hermione emerged from the farthest hallway, holding a steaming china pot. Upon catching sight of Ron, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, the teapot slipped from her hands.

"_Arresto Momentum_," Ernie said lazily, flicking his wand at the plummeting teapot. Instantly, the pot halted its descent, and any tea that had escaped from it returned meekly within the china.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ernie said, pointing his wand towards the coffee table, towards which the teapot hovered, finally setting itself down in the center of the table.

"Ron, Harry—" she began, looking around. "Dean, Seamus, Neville—what are you doing here?"

"Not exactly the tone I was hoping to hear," Ron said grumpily, however putting his arm around Hermione when she approached him. Hermione laughed.

"I was just surprised," she said, "I wasn't expecting you five to visit so soon… and so late, you all could have gotten in trouble!"

As Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville grumbled at her, Harry glanced around to chance a look at Ernie—again, that strangely irritated look, even though he was not scowling, was in his eyes, but by busying himself with multiplying an extra teacup Hermione had bought, he was able to look unfazed.

"Seamus, you still haven't been able to get that stiletto off?" Harry heard Hermione say, and he looked around just in time to see Seamus get on the floor and peer at his foot, nearly shoving the heel of the stiletto up his right nostril. Rearing back quickly and massaging his nose viciously, Seamus shook his head resignedly.

"I was hoping maybe you'd be able to take it off," he said, grabbing Neville around the neck of his robes in order to pull himself back to his feet ("Mmmergdhfed!" Neville choked).

Snuffing again, Ernie looked over Seamus's foot with almost professional interest. "Do you know what spell you used on your shoe? What specific incantation? Form of transfiguration?"

At each question Ernie shot at him, Seamus seemed to shrink. "No," he finally said. "It was an accident. I was just prodding my shoe and it… this," he finished meekly, gesturing to his stiletto.

Ernie snuffed. "If you ever want a chance to fix your shoe you're going to have to at least know the theory of the type of transfiguration you used on it," he said pompously. "It might have helped if you listened in Transfiguration Class—"

"Ernie," Hermione interjected, "it was an accident—"

"Accidents can kill people, Hermione."

Stronger and more masculine men than Ernie would have quailed under the look Hermione gave him.

"I don't know why you're getting so worked up over this," Hermione said peevishly. "You said so yourself, you weren't 'made Head Boy for nothing'; could you at least help him?"

Unsuccessfully stifling a sigh, Ernie slid off his armchair and looked closely at Seamus's stiletto. After a strained silence, he straightened up and dusted off his hands.

"Well?" Seamus asked anxiously, reminding Harry irresistibly of a man about to become a father.

"Well, the only thing we can do for now is put an Illusion Charm on your problem," Ernie said smoothly. "It'll at least look normal, but it'll feel the same to you—"

"—and to anybody's foot he steps on," Harry added, the foot Seamus had accidentally stabbed earlier twinging.

"It's five inches tall and killing me," Seamus said pleadingly, "are you sure there's nothing you can do? I've already tried hacking the heel off and it's strong as bloody h—"

"—not unless you knew the theory of the transfiguration you put on it," Ernie repeated, as he sat heavily back down on his armchair. "You can ask Madam Pomfrey to help you, but you're really going to need the theory."

With a groan of disbelief, Seamus fell back on the couch, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in exaggerated distress.

Shooting an annoyed look at Ernie, Hermione sat down next to Seamus. "Here, give me your foot," she said kindly. After a few moments, some well-chosen phrases, and a couple of outbursts of laughter from Seamus as his foot was his most ticklish spot, Hermione set down his still-stilettoed, yet perfectly normal looking foot down, looking satisfied. "That should hold for at least two weeks," she said. "Then we can put it back on once it wears off."

"You think it's going to stay on me that long?" Seamus asked worriedly. "What if it never comes off?"

"Oh, it should come off eventually," Hermione said placidly. "If this was done accidentally it shouldn't've been a well-done spell, and all spells do wear off eventually, so, hopefully it will be off by the time we graduate."

"_Hopefully_?"

A cup of tea was thrust at Seamus's chest. "It's best if you don't worry about it now, I suppose," Hermione said concernedly. "But we're going to be sitting down most of the time in classes, you know, so there won't be too much pain on your f—"

"It hurts right now! And I'm sitting down, too!"

"No use complaining about it, Finnigan," Ernie said in annoyance from his armchair. "It looks normal now, so if you keep going on at it people are going to think you're—"

"Ernie," Hermione said warningly.

Ernie snuffed, but made no further comment.

"So," Dean said into the awkward silence that followed, "what notices were you putting up on the Notice Boards, Hermione?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Hermione grabbed at the chance. "Reminders about events happening over the course of the year," she said, "and one big one about Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses—while our Head of House is going around giving us our schedules, they're also giving the Seventh Years their Course."

"How're they chosen?" Neville asked worriedly. "Is it given depending on—on our talents, or something?"

"Purely random," Ernie said, as though disapproving of Dumbledore's method. "And I hear that groups of friends get the same one 'for as much educational intake as possible'… my arse," Ernie added under his breath.

"Sorry?" Ron asked, not believing what he heard.

"Nothing," Ernie said, waving an airy hand. "But I am quite eager to find out which course I'm taking—it had better be worth my time."

"As Head Boy, shouldn't everything be worth your time?" Neville asked innocently.

Ernie made as if to make an angry retort, and seeming to think better of it, frowned. "It's getting late," he said. "You five better head back to your Common Room—you can use a SPELL through to it—" With an enormous effort, Ernie heaved himself from the armchair and plodded into the hallway Hermione had come out from earlier.

Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville followed behind. But, looking despairingly at Hermione, Ron made absolutely no movement to follow his Head Boy until Hermione gave him a little push. "He's right, you know," she said, "if you don't get enough sleep tonight you're going to get off on the wrong foot. Like… Seamus, for example."

"But—I don't—not even—no goodnight kiss?" Ron spluttered, pouting not unlike a child who had been refused candy.

Strangled sobbing sounds emitted from the far hallway, coupled with an annoyed snuff that sounded amazingly like Ernie's.

"Oh—all right then," Hermione relented. Leaning up, she gave Ron a peck on the lips that lasted for a nanosecond and pulled back to laugh at the extreme look of disappointment on Ron's face. "Just kidding," she said delicately.

"Don't _ever_ say those words again," Ron said darkly, reminded irresistibly of Seamus.

Seconds later, the look of confusion on Hermione's face disappeared as Ron leaned in, and moments later, they began snogging for so long that Dean finally peeked around the wall of the hallway.

"OI! Get a room," he called across the common room, however, his shout could not eliminate the tone of amusement from it.

Sighing in exasperation, Ron pulled back reluctantly and gave Hermione a brief hug, making a horrible face at Dean over Hermione's shoulder. "Good night," he said quietly. "Be careful about that McMillan bloke." When Hermione did nothing but merely roll her eyes, the corners of Ron's mouth came down. "I'm serious."

"I think," Hermione said, tapping Ron none-too-gently on the nose with each word, "that it's time for you to trust me when I say I wouldn't go behind your back with him."

"That's not what I was getting at—"

"Yes you were," Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips. "But until you learn how to stop being so suspicious of me—no more kisses."

"_What_?"

"You heard me, Ronald Weasley."

"But you like them as much as I do!"

"You need to learn a lesson, my dear Ron," Hermione went on. Ron, in spite of his harsh punishment, had to stifle a grin, noting that Hermione did not deny what he just said.

"You didn't deny it," he said jokingly, in a sing-song voice, tapping her in turn on her nose.

Hermione gave him a strange look. "Deny what? Well, stop changing the subject, Ronald, you're going to need a lesson. No kisses! Until you can learn to _trust me_."

"But I do—"

"I can tell you're not quite comfortable about my being up here alone with Ernie—"

"Well, what boyfriend wouldn't be?"

"One who _trusts their girlfriend_, Ron," Hermione emphasized.

Ron was about to retort when this time, Harry looked around the wall of the hallway.

"Oi, Ron, we have to go!"

"All _right_, Harry, can't a man say goodnight to his—"

Again, Ron was forestalled by Hermione pulling him by the arm towards the Harry and the hallway, in which the Godfather Gang and Ernie were apparently conversing, waiting for them.

"Whoa," Ron said, looking around at the hallway, the walls of which were covered with various portraits. "What is this place?"

"This is our SPELL Corridor," Hermione said, looking around at the Portraits. "Direct Portrait Access to Common Rooms, mainly. Well, we _say_ Portrait, but not all of them are—for instance, the Ravenclaw Common Room is a knob-less door with an eagle knocker whose questions you have to answer—but it's all basically the same, you know, it's all direct passageway here."

"So that Fat Lady's in here?" Seamus asked, tottering unsteadily along on his disguised stiletto.

"Present," the voice of the Fat Lady floated down the hall boredly.

After passing a portrait of a fruit bowl and a stone door with an eagle knocker, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ernie stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was looking extremely cranky and sleepy.

"Password?" she asked silkily.

"_Mox innotui umultus_," Ernie told her.

"That is correct," the Fat Lady replied, and she swung forward to reveal the Portrait Hole.

"Why does it have to be so difficult?" Neville whimpered, but Ernie appeared not to have heard.

"Well, good night," said the aforementioned boy as imperiously as he could, with a humongous yawn that displayed all of his teeth.

"Good night, Harry," Hermione said, giving him a hug. "Dean, Seamus, Neville," she added, the latter three waving and disappearing through the Hole.

"English? At least in English?" were Neville's last fading words as he was pulled hastily through the Portrait Hole by Dean.

"'Night, Hermione," Ron said, leaning towards her, hoping that she had forgotten the punishment she had laid on him. However, the only thing that touched his lips was her forefinger, which pushed him gently back.

"Forgotten our deal already, have we?" she asked, one finger on Ron's mouth, her free hand on her hips.

Ron merely huffed in annoyance, and, smiling, Hermione patted him robustly on the shoulder. "I love you!"

Harry followed Ron through the Portrait Hole, and glancing back, he thought he could see a look of great satisfaction on Ernie's face. However, before he could dwell on the mystery any longer, Ron's voice broke through his train of thought.

"D'you think we'll be able to get back through? It seems like we can."

"I dunno," Harry said. Pushing the Portrait back open, Harry looked out—but all he could see was the normal seventh-floor corridor outside, and the Fat Lady snorting in annoyance to please shut her Portrait or she would never let them through to the Common Room again, password or not. "It goes back to normal," Harry said, looking around. "That actually _is_ convenient."

"Not to us," Ron said grumpily.

"Still annoyed at the punishment Hermione gave you?" Harry asked shrewdly.

"No, Harry, I'm ecstatic about it," Ron answered sarcastically. "Well, I'm tired—coming up?"

Once they were back in their Dormitory, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were already in their beds, the hangings drawn. As Harry began to fish for pyjamas out of his trunk, Ron pulled off his robes, and with a familiar-sounding _plop_, a firm, round something fell from its breast pockets and fell to the floor. Harry, whose head and torso were currently deep inside his trunk, did not hear, but Ron bent down to the floor and picked up what fell. After staring at it for a while, it came back to him—he had stowed a Minnietree fruit in his robes! But its appearance was beginning to change, somehow. Shrugging, Ron shoved it into the drawer of his bedside table, making a mental note to study it over later the next day.

-x-

When Ron woke up the next morning, his Dormitory was already empty—Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville had evidently left for breakfast already.

"How thoughtful of them," Ron muttered sardonically.

Once he dressed and came down the Boys' Stairs, he found the Common Room empty save for one person—Hermione, who was apparently waiting for him. When he caught her eye, he gave her a smile which was not returned.

"Ron, I want to talk to you," Hermione said without preamble, sitting down on the couch closest to the fireplace.

Walking over, Ron sat beside her. "What is it? I promise, I have complete faith in you—"

"—it's not about that," Hermione interrupted. "I just—I don't—I just don't think this is working out."

"What's not working out?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, her hands flying around as though attempting to talk for her.

"Er," Ron said, trying to understand what she was saying, "your… fish is dying?"

"No," Hermione said after a pause. "I mean… us. We're not working out."

Ron's heart seemed to miss about ten beats, his throat constricting. "What are you talking about?" he finally choked out. "I—we—of course we are! We're… we're soul mates, remember?"

"No we're not," Hermione said firmly.

"So what," Ron asked, desperate to find some sense from Hermione's words, "you're—you're ditching me? Just like that?"

"Well… yes," Hermione said slowly.

"Is there any other reason, besides us not working out? Hermione, I don't think you understand, I lo—"

"—Ernie McMillan," Hermione interrupted dreamily, a smile widening on her face, which looked as though it were bathed in pure sunlight.

"I—what?" Ron spluttered, staring at Hermione incredulously. "What're you—what d'you see in that prat?"

"He's _Head Boy_, Ron," Hermione said in a slow voice, as though stating the obvious. "He's smart, top in all of his classes… he's never broken a rule—"

"But you've broken a million rules as well!"

"Because I was with you and Harry," Hermione said in the same slow voice. "If I was never with you in the beginning I might've had a higher status."

Ron gaped at her. "But you're already Head Girl! That's as high as you can get right now!"

To his horror, Hermione burst into tears. "No it isn't," she wailed. "Ernie's Headmaster, look!" and she pointed to a spot behind Ron. Turning around, he was met with a rather disturbing sight.

Ernie McMillan was standing on an elevated platform behind him, which he hadn't noticed previously. On his chin was a long, flowing silver beard, which parted around his behemothic stomach, around which he wore no shirt. Tucked under one arm was a _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_, a plant he recognized as Neville had treasured one himself in fifth year—and under his other arm were three kumquats. Not soon after he had begun to digest this horrible eyesore, Hermione walked towards him as though she were a sleepwalker, giving him an adoring look. To add to his anguish, Hermione gave Ron an evil grin and grabbed Ernie's face and pulled him towards her, their lips meeting. Surprised at how calm his voice sounded, although his insides were burning with extreme anger, all Ron could manage to say was, "You're going with him?"

"Oh, no!" Ernie boomed once he finished snogging Hermione. "We're getting married!"

And all of a sudden, Hermione's robes turned into an immaculate, yet poofy, white dress, and a necktie appeared around Ernie's neck, leaving his gigantic stomach still bare, the only other difference being black trousers replacing his boxers.

"I now pronounce you man and wife!" Snape drawled, appearing unexpectedly in between Hermione and Ernie. "You may kiss the bride."

With a shrill scream of excitement he would have never expected of Hermione, the aforesaid girl leaped into Ernie's waiting arms and leaned in for the marital kiss.

"_Don't do it_! _Don't kiss him_!" Ron roared, trying to leap up from the couch, but, looking down, he could see Harry tying him to the couch with Unbreakable Rope. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Tying you to the couch, of course," Harry said conversationally.

"Wha—"

"Now try to get up," Harry snarled cruelly, lashing another rope across Ron's neck.

"How the hell'm I supposed to get up if you're effing tying me to the couch?" Ron demanded. "This is insane, let me go!"

"Get _up_," Harry insisted, yanking the rope still more tightly around his neck.

"How the _hell_ am I—" Ron repeated, however, Harry interrupted him again.

"Get _up_! Ron, I'm telling you, get _up_! Now!"

The thick rope was beginning to cut off his air circulation, and he began thrashing around.

"_Get up_!"

Wait—thrashing around? He could move his legs? …Well, this was a pleasant surprise.

"_GET UP_!"

Ron blinked, and all of a sudden, the Common Room melted away, and Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all standing over him, looking concerned. Reaching up to his neck, he pulled away his blanket, which had knotted over his throat. Sitting up quickly and massaging his throat, he shook his head, attempting to clear it of the nightmare.

"Got up then, have you?" Harry asked dryly.

"Yeah—thanks," Ron gasped out, his throat still aching rather abominably. "Blimey—that was weird…"

"Yeah, you should've seen you, thrashing around in your bed as though you were sleeping with a Quintaped," Seamus said. "'Don't do it! Don't kiss him!' you said; don't kiss who?"

Flaming up a fiery scarlet, Ron instead busied with making his bed, but Seamus seemed to take his color as answer enough. Clapping him on the shoulder, Seamus took a deep breath. "Ron, next to Ernie, you are a dashing bloke, all right? Hermione's not going to go with him behind your back."

Ron blinked at Ernie. "You're not—gay, are you? Did that stiletto do something to you?"

Seamus clapped a hand to his forehead as Harry, Dean, and Neville (the latter, of course, mmmergdhfeding at the idea) all groaned in annoyance.

"Hermione's right, you _do_ have a knack for changing the subject," Harry said resignedly. "Look, Ron, you're my best mate, but—"

"It was just a dream," Ron said firmly, turning to face his friends. "You can't control what goes on when you dream, can you?" he asked, directing it mostly towards Harry, who understood only too well what he meant.

Harry threw up his arms placatingly. "All right, we just wanted to help," he said hurriedly. "Well, get dressed, mate, we need to go down earlier today because of our Schedules."

"Oh, right," Ron said, pulling out a pair of maroon socks from his trunk. "Yeah, we get our Courses today, don't we?"

As in his dream, Hermione was waiting for them downstairs; but after hanging back and combing the common room with his eyes for nearly a full minute and convincing himself that Ernie wasn't there, he felt it safe to approach Hermione, who was talking animatedly with Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville anyway. When Ron approached, she smiled.

"Well, good morning, Ron," she said. "Did you happen to have any interesting dreams last night?"

Ron, who had began to lean towards her, hoping she had forgiven him already, reared back quickly and glared at Seamus, who attempted to hide behind Harry.

"I forget," he said stoutly, after a pause. After hesitating again he said, "Are they going to give us our schedules before or after breakfast?"

Rolling her eyes at the change of subject, Hermione answered. "They're giving the other years their schedules before breakfast. We're all going to receive ours after breakfast so that the Heads of Houses can sort all of us out a bit better, for our—"

"—Referentially Individualized Chosen Courses!" Seamus said proudly.

There was a pause as everybody stared at Seamus.

"Erm," Hermione said after a while, "right—those… and it's crucial that our Heads of Houses take their time, because we don't want to be put in a stupid subject, you know. Or at least, I don't."

"It had just better not be boring," Dean muttered.

Once the last few fifth-years cleared the Great Hall, leaving hasty trails of scrambled egg behind, Dumbledore stood up from the table, closely followed by the four Heads of Houses, who stood up just as abruptly.

"Professors, if you please…?" Dumbledore murmured to the four Heads. Simultaneously, all four nodded and swept to their respective House Tables.

Professor McGonagall reached the Gryffindor Table and took out a roll of parchment, calling out the roll. After a few minutes, she finally reached "Weasley, Ronald", and scarcely after Ron could get out a "Here", she snapped the roll shut.

"Please get into a straight line, arranged by alphabetical order," Professor McGonagall said crisply.

In the moments that followed, there was much jostling and yelps as the Gryffindors struggled into their spaces accompanied by the other Tables, at which the other Houses had begun to rearrange themselves as well. When order was finally restored, the Heads of Houses, who before had looked so stern, now looked slightly disheveled. Professor McGonagall's nose flared.

"Right," she said after a pause, straightening her top hat, which had slid sideways on her face in the chaos.

Then slowly, she began to progress down the line, talking to each student and tapping blank schedules to fit each student. Harry saw—if he craned his neck just so— Professor McGonagall now speaking to Seamus. After a while, she tapped a blank schedule and it filled with words, and she handed it to Seamus.

At first, Seamus just read through his list. However, when Harry was just about to turn away, a quizzical look appeared on Seamus's face. Looking back at Seamus so quickly he nearly had whiplash (Parvati Patil gave him a strange look), he saw Seamus's expression still hadn't changed, and Harry furrowed his eyebrows. Harry looked back to the end of the line where Ron was and grimaced, gesturing to Seamus. Ron nodded, as he had noticed Seamus as well.

When Harry finally looked back to Professor McGonagall, he turned just in time to see Professor McGonagall hand Hermione a schedule. There was a pause as Hermione read through her schedule, nodding, evidently satisfied with her schedule—then her satisfied expression turned to one similar to Seamus's. She got over her shock soon enough though, and just as she had swept from the Great Hall, Ernie McMillan himself stumped over to the great oaken doors and followed behind her. However, Harry didn't have much time to dwell on the matter, as he heard an audible "Huh?" and looked back to Professor McGonagall, who had just passed Neville, who was staring at his schedule quizzically (although the confused expression on his face seemed normal enough). Finally, Parvati Patil received her schedule and departed for her first period Advanced Divination class, and Professor McGonagall moved on to Harry.

"Ah, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, glancing once at a paper on a clipboard that was hovering in front of her. "Let's see… all right, you signed on for Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Herbology, correct?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Yes, yes, all good marks, I was very pleased—quite a good mark on your Transfiguration final last year as well, very good… hmm…"

There was a pause as Professor McGonagall stared at the clipboard pensively, her lips pursed.

"You'll find this seems to be in order, Potter," she said finally, tapping a blank schedule so that it filled with schedule names and times. "Go on, head to your first period—you'll find that some of your classmates are already there."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, slipping his schedule into his robes without looking at them and exiting the Great Hall. However, instead of departing for his first period, he loitered in the foyer of the castle, waiting for Ron to leave the Hall. After a few minutes, two people passing through who looked as though they had just recently given tantrums, and an angry shouting match that carried through the oaken doors, Ron finally passed through them himself, looking extremely thankful to be leaving the Great Hall.

"Thanks for waiting," Ron said, breathing rather heavily. "You should've seen the Hall, right after you left a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin started—well, let's just say that Professor Flitwick can now be called a tiny terror and Professor Snape's just a bit more oilier than usual—"

"—oilier?"

"Let's just say it's unnaturally natural. And—"

"No!" Harry said hastily. "No, I think the information you've just given me was good enough, thanks."

Ron snorted and took out his schedule, which he had stowed in a pocket of his robe. "Did you look yet?"

Harry shook his head and pulled his schedule out from the breast pocket of his robes. "If you're ready," he said, keeping it folded.

"If you're ready," Ron said.

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then nodded.

_Harry James Potter_

_Herbology-Professor Sprout-Hufflepuff  
__Charms-Professor Flitwick-Ravenclaw  
__Morning Break  
__Potions-Professor Snape-Slytherin  
__Transfiguration-Professor McGonagall-Hufflepuff  
__Lunch  
__Double Lessons in Classroom 97-TBA-select  
__free  
__Defense Against the Dark Arts-Professor Humptrumpet-Slytherin  
__free_

Harry felt the same confused look he saw on Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville etching his face. Looking up, he saw Ron looking at his own schedule strangely, his eyes fixed on one particular spot.

"Ron?" Harry said, looking back to his schedule. "What is your fifth period class?"

"Actually, I dunno," Ron said. "That's the confusing part—it just says where it's going to be, but I don't have my books or anything. Do you?"

Harry hadn't thought about that. "No. I never thought of that," he stated out loud. "Do you know who your teacher is?"

"Yeah, about that—TBA? The Biggest Arse—?"

"Er… no. To Be Announced," Harry said, remembering with great disdain the acronym from many of Uncle Vernon's numerous papers about drills. "Well, how about your classroom? Does your schedule say which room you're in?"

There was a pause as Ron peered at his schedule. Before he could take a proper look, however, a little voice sounded in his head.

_Amazing… did Ernie just make a joke?_

Ron dropped his schedule and felt his head; he hadn't heard Hermione's voice in his mind for months—and why was she thinking about Ernie?

"Ron?"

Ron's head snapped back in Harry's direction. "Oh—sorry; what did you ask me again?"

"What classroom is your fifth period in?" Harry asked him again.

Again, Ron peered at his schedule.

"Ninety-seven."

-x-

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, as she reached Hermione. "Of course, I don't think I need to tell you that you had top marks in everything in your final exams last year. I wouldn't be surprised if every job you ever applied for in the future accepts you instantly—yes, I think you're quite cleared for everything—" she checked the levitating clipboard that was hovering in front of her nose—"yes, it's all in order. Quite. Here you go." And with that, the professor handed a newly-filled schedule to Hermione, who took it eagerly, nearly snatching it from Professor McGonagall's hands.

She roved over her schedule, feeling her eager expression fail into one of confusion.

"Professor, what about my fifth period class? I don't—"

Professor McGonagall was already looking over another classmate's schedule, and looked quite irritated at the interruption. "Just do what it says on your schedule, Miss Granger, now go ahead, you're already quite late for your first class." She moved along the line to Neville, who was looking quite terrified.

Not wishing to disagree with a woman who could change quite easily into a cat that could scratch half of your face off, Hermione sighed and left the Great Hall. Scarcely had she just pushed the doors to the Great Hall open and exited it did the doors swing open again, and there stood Ernie McMillan.

"Oh, hello, Ernie," Hermione said, turning to look at her fellow Head Student. However, there was no need to turn around as far, as Ernie had already caught up with her.

"Got your schedule then, have you?"

"Of course not, Ernie," Hermione replied dryly. "I just stayed in the Great Hall for a few minutes after breakfast for absolutely no reason."

"What's your first period class?" Ernie continued, ignoring Hermione's snide comments.

"I have first period Herbology," Hermione said.

Fully expecting Ernie to drop behind and walk up the staircase to the second floor, Hermione was surprised when he accompanied her to the castle door.

"What are you doing, Ernie? Aren't you going to class?"

Ernie gave Hermione an exasperated look. "I would never dream of skipping class, Hermione," he said in a condescending tone. "I have Herbology, too."

"Oh," Hermione said. "You have your books, then?"

"I carry all of them with me on the first day," Ernie said, holding a bulging knapsack out to Hermione for her inspection.

"Really?" Hermione asked, as they rounded the pathway that took them to the Greenhouses. Withdrawing a bag from inside her robes, she showed it to Ernie. "So do I!"

"Great minds think alike," Ernie said, waving a hand, although looking quite pleased with himself.

_Amazing_, Hermione thought to herself, _did Ernie just make a joke?_

"Have you started reading _Dangerous Plants for the Daring Herbologist_?" Hermione asked him, pulling out the Herbology book from the bag and stowing the rest away. "It's really an interesting read."

"I just started reading it last night, before I went to bed," Ernie said, pulling out his own copy and flipping through it. "And really, none of these plants are all that dangerous if you know how to control them."

Hermione felt impressed. "Yeah, you're absolutely right. What do you think about Herbology this year? I think it's going to be extremely interesting, if we're going to be studying anything remotely like the Minnietree."

Ernie nodded. "I'm extremely interested in Evergreen Diligo Vine, myself."

"Evergreen Diligo Vine? I don't think I've reached that chapter quite yet. Which one is it?"

Ernie absent-mindedly flipped through _Dangerous Plants for the Daring Herbologist_. "Er, a couple chapters after the chapter on the Minnietree, actually. But the chapter in between them was on Mephitic Shrubs, and it was quite long, to tell you the truth."

"I haven't got quite that far yet," Hermione confessed. "But I'm sure they're really interesting, what does the Evergreen Diligo Vine do?"

Just as Ernie opened his mouth to speak, they had arrived at the clearing where the three Greenhouses of Hogwarts resided, and by looking, they could see a few of their classmates inside the third Greenhouse, where they studied more dangerous plants and fungi. Giving Ernie a brief, apprehensive look, Hermione pulled open the door of Greenhouse Three and walked inside.

They were greeted by a roar of surreal noise: Professor Sprout was bustling up and down three rows of long tables, one of which Hermione could see Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones chasing a Poisonous Toad Stool, which was hopping rather quickly away. With a jolt of pleasant recognition, Hermione could see Seamus standing over a barrel, peering rather nervously into its depths. Justin Finch-Fletchly was standing behind him, looking equally jittery, saying, "Go on, just grab one!" Seamus made an angry retort… and just as Hermione turned to put her things on an empty table, Professor Sprout loomed up in front of her (or as best as she could, for Professor Sprout was roughly a head shorter than her).

"Ah, Miss Granger—and Mr. McMillan, yes, go ahead, put your things down and get to work! Since this is the first lesson, we're starting on something small—Poisonous Toad Stools, first chapter, I'm sure you've read…?"

Remembering the chapter, Hermione nodded. "What do you want us to do with them?"

Professor Sprout nodded at the barrel which Seamus seemed about ready to kick. "All of my little Toad Stools are in there," she said. "I want you to pair up—yes, you and Mr. McMillan are fine—I'm sure you know that these Toad Stools contain a large amount of venomous spores that are quite useful in Hiccupping Solutions if diluted properly, but if not diluted properly, quite interesting effects may happen…

"So, you and Ernie shall take a Poisonous Toad Stool and attempt to collect a cup-full of Toad Stool spores for me so that Professor Snape can have a good stock for his fifth-years. Do you have any questions?"

"No, Professor," Ernie said.

Once Professor Sprout had left to sort out Justin and Seamus, the latter getting the heel of his disguised stiletto stuck in the barrel, Ernie turned to Hermione. "Let's get to work, then?" he asked her, picking up two pairs of protective gloves from the pile on the table beside him.

Glancing at the Greenhouse Door, Hermione reluctantly accepted a pair of protective gloves from Ernie and followed him to the barrel, wondering what Ron would think when he saw her paired up with Ernie. Of course, it wasn't her fault, but Ron _was_ becoming awfully paranoid these days—well, he'd just have to live with her being Ernie's partner for the day.

Once Ernie and Hermione had successfully retrieved a Toad Stool from the barrel—it was surprisingly difficult, each stool was extremely slimy and difficult to extricate from the barrel, not to mention that each one had roots shaped in the appendages of a real toad, enabling the horrible mushroom to wriggle and hop away—the door to the Greenhouse swung open, and Harry and Ron came inside, talking rapidly about—fifth period, was it? With a lurch of discomfort that had nothing to do with the Toad Stool that was currently writhing in her hands, she hurriedly carried the mushroom to the portion of table that she and Ernie would be working on. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Professor Sprout telling Harry and Ron what they would be doing in class today. Good. Ron hadn't seen who she was working with yet. Hoping that Professor Sprout would buy her a bit of time to think, Hermione released the Toad Stool, which swayed on the spot for a few minutes, then suddenly bolted down the table in Ron and Harry's direction.

_Shite_! Hermione thought furiously to herself. Totally forgetting about the wand that she had tucked in her robe pocket, she began to chase the stubborn Toad Stool. Ernie, a little late on the uptake, blinked owlishly at her retreating figure before running after her.

Hermione, intent on catching the Toad Stool before it would run into Harry, Professor Sprout, or—Merlin forbid—Ron, did not notice where she was running; her eyes were fixed on the escaping stool, and she _must not let it escape_. Those were the only words ringing in her head.

_Must not let it escape._

_Must not let it escape._

_Must not let it escape._

_Must not let it_—

_THUD_.

With a burst of realization, Hermione crashed to the floor; her Toad Stool, making a strange croaking sound, soared through the air and out the closing door of the Greenhouse, but she barely noticed it—all she knew was that she had ran into a person, and if this didn't bring about Ron's attention, she didn't know what would. This was extremely _bad_.

Groaning, Hermione slowly opened her eyes and looked at the person she had just run into. Then, profane phrases erupted in her brain.

_Shite._

_Damn._

_Buggeration._

Striving to keep her voice casual, Hermione made a brave attempt at a smile. "Hello, Ron! Erm—those… Toad Stools, extremely…"

But her voice trailed off, and she and Ron merely stared dumbly at each other from the floor.

The moment was made no easier when Ernie, not seeing the two sitting awkwardly on the floor, tripped over Hermione's shoulder and fell on top of Ron.

_**finite**_


	5. You've got to be joking me

**Muggle Studies**

by: Faithful Wheezy

…It's been a while. Happy Halloween, Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year! and all that ;D I hope you're all still here.

All right, a couple of you were confused about the last few lines in the last chapter, mutters slightly so I'm going to reword it for you:

Hermione chases Toad Stool. She runs. She runs. She runs. Hermione runs into Ron. She sits down on the floor hard. Ron falls down hard. They are not on top of each other. They stare at each other. They give each other stunned looks. Ernie runs after Hermione. For the hell of it. He does not see Hermione on the floor. He does not see Ron on the floor. He keeps running. He runs. He runs. He runs. Then his foot hits Hermione's shoulder. He trips. He falls. He falls. He falls. He falls on top of Ron. And that is where it ended.

Please review and enjoy!

Disclaimer: See prologue.

**Four: You've got to be joking me**

"Mmmergdhfed!"

With a violent gesture, Ron threw Ernie off of him, resulting in the Head Boy falling onto Hermione's lap. Realizing what he had done, Ron seized Ernie by both of his wrists and pulled him off a rather shocked Hermione and set him down hard on the dirt floor of the Greenhouse.

"I am _not_ a piece of trash that you can just pick up and throw away, Weasley!" Ernie spluttered from the ground.

"Could've fooled me," Ron muttered as he helped Hermione up.

"What was that?" Ernie screeched.

"Nothing, nothing," Ron said. He looked at Hermione apologetically. "Sorry about that, Hermione."

Hermione began dusting herself off. "It's fine, Ron…" she sighed. "Oh, great, I'm going to have to get another Toad Stool now," she added resentfully, barely discerning the small, red mushroom hopping merrily towards the Great Lake.

Ron looked over his shoulder in the direction of the Toad Stool and shrugged. "I could help you get another one," he said.

"Well—"

"Oh, no, no, no," Professor Sprout squawked unexpectedly from behind them. "Mr. Weasley, I want you to strictly work with your own partner."

Ron pointed at Hermione confusedly. "Er… but what about Hermione and me?"

Hermione cringed and crossed her fingers. Maybe if Professor Sprout said that _she'd_ partnered her and Ernie together, it wouldn't sound as bad—

"Miss Granger has already partnered with Mr. McMillan."

Hermione groaned and fought the urge to cover her eyes while Ernie seemed to gloat at Ron from the floor.

Ron frowned. "When?"

"Not five minutes ago, Mr. Weasley, but I suggest that you begin working on your toad stool with Mr. Potter if you want any credit today. Miss Granger, Mr. McMillan, go on and get another Toad Stool from the barrel, but if you lose another one I regret to say I'll be forced to make you go after it, unless you'd like a zero—" she looked between Hermione and Ernie serenely as she spoke, but, after a pause, gave Ernie a double take. "Mr. McMillan, what are you doing on the ground?"

Ron snorted, which made Hermione feel safe enough to look up. She felt slightly bad—knowing Ron and his tendencies to be paranoid—and tried to shoot him an apologetic look: but he had already turned his back on her. With a slight frown, she turned back to Ernie, and was greeted with the sight of her dignified Head partner swatting any remaining dirt from the ground off of his derriere. Apprehensively, she looked between the oozing barrel and Ernie, and sighed. _This_ was going to be fun.

-x-

"All right, everybody, stop working on your toad stools!"

Hermione exhaled in relief and dropped her trowel; the past hour had not been her exact vision of fun, and she was glad that it was over.

Maybe 'glad' wasn't the correct adjective… perhaps 'considerably relieved and overjoyed' would be of better use.

Professor Sprout ambled between the tables, scrutinizing each pair's spore samples, talking to the class in general as she walked along. "All right, everybody, look at your partners."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she stared resolutely at her cupful of Toad Stool Spores. It seemed as though Professor Sprout noticed her stubbornness, as she repeated herself. "Go on! Look at your partners."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ron and Harry looking confusedly at each other, while Seamus and Justin Finch-Fletchley frowned at each other from across the table. Heaving a hefty sigh, she forced herself to look at Ernie, who was already staring at her; it seemed as though he was using all his willpower to not let his eyes droop or his mouth drop.

Hermione returned his drunken gaze with an indifferent stare, feeling one eyebrow unconsciously arch its way up her forehead.

"All right," Professor Sprout said in ringing tones, "the person you are looking at is going to be your designated Herbology Partner for—"

_Just the rest of the week, just the rest of the week_… Hermione chanted to herself.

"—the rest of the year," the professor finished, looking resolutely at the class as though challenging any one of them to argue.

Hermione, too shocked to speak, merely gaped at Professor Sprout; the considerably relieved and overjoyed feeling she had accumulated not two minutes ago began to deflate out of her as quickly as would a balloon once a large, obese woman sat down on it. Or those sumo wrestling types. Or Ernie.

When no argument ensued, Professor Sprout waved her wand, and every sample of Toad Stool spores flew from each table into a rather dilapidated-looking cabinet in the corner.

"Feel extremely privileged, Hermione," Ernie said pompously as he put his things together. "After all, I am _quite_ adept in Herbology—expect your grades to rocket upwards from now on in here; with me as your partner, your performance in this class should greatly improve, don't you think?"

Hermione grinned wryly and made no comment, shoving her books into the deep recesses of her book bag.

Undaunted by her silence, Ernie continued prattling on. "So, what class do you have next?"

"Charms," Hermione said, proceeding to slam the aforementioned schedule's book into her bag.

"I have Potions," Ernie said, sounding excited. "I've been studying all summer—my mother was the quintessence of the perfect potioneer too, you know, I've been getting in a lot of practice with her myself. Deriving antidotes really isn't that hard if you know the core theories, and though a lot of people find it difficult, I thought it rather old hat, you know—a lot of family history with Healers, to stop making antidotes isn't even worth thinking about—"

"—and it must be," Hermione interrupted through her teeth. Finally managing to squash her Herbology book inside her bulging book bag, she turned towards the door. "Well, I'll see you late…" her voice trailed off as she noticed Ernie hurriedly shove his belongings into his bag in a haste to walk by her side, which he managed to successfully do.

"I have a feeling that Herbology's going to be my favorite subject this year," Ernie said, a slight sound of satisfaction finding its way into his voice. "How about you?"

"Any specific reason why, McMillan?" a voice said loudly from behind.

Hermione whirled around. Oh, bugger, it was Ron—she hadn't seen him leave the greenhouse. She hurried to his side rather sheepishly, and glanced back at Ernie, who was glaring at Ron.

"Hullo, Hermione," Harry said, in a voice at complete odds with the tense atmosphere.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said, her voice strained. She risked looking in Ron's direction, and, finding that her boyfriend was giving Ernie a look that plainly wished him a painful death, hurriedly averted her gaze to the clouding sky.

"Erm," she said, half-heartedly waving her hand at the sky, "nice weather, isn't it?"

"No, no specific reason at all," Ernie spat hotly.

"Just wonderful," Harry agreed, sounding as though he was resisting an overwhelming urge to laugh. "The sun shining…"

A fat raindrop landed on Ernie's nose as a couple, large storm clouds skittered in front of the sun.

"Are you sure about that, McMillan?" Ron returned, his ears beginning to grow red. "You seem very self-satisfied about something to me."

"The birds singing…" Hermione continued nervously, looking out at the trees. A shrill, cacophonous squawk rang loudly from the Forbidden Forest, followed by the distinct sound of several falling trees.

"Sweetly," Harry added.

"Oh, I dunno, Weasley, I think I'm entitled to being self-satisfied, wouldn't you think? Receiving the position of Head Boy, you know—"

"—of course you'd particularly like _that_—"

"—and what, exactly, is that supposed to—"

Harry sighed loudly. "And doesn't the breeze feel great?" he said, stretching his arms out.

As Ernie was arguing with Ron whilst walking backwards, a particularly strong gust of wind caught him off balance, and he landed on his backside for the second time that hour.

"Wonderful," Hermione affirmed.

Again, Ernie glared at them as he struggled to get off the ground. However, it seemed as though some invisible force was keeping him to the ground. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at him in silence.

"What are you guys still doing here?" said a voice unexpectedly from behind.

Seamus tottered unsteadily beside Harry and stared in the same general direction everyone present was staring at. "Oh, hullo, Ernie," he said, once he located the struggling Head Boy. "What's keeping you?"

"I—don't—know," Ernie muttered angrily. "Something seems—to be keeping—me stuck to the ground…"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Seamus continued staring at their Head Boy in silence, without bothering to offer any assistance.

After a few moments, Ernie decided to swallow part of the dignity he had left. "Do I need to spell everything out for you?" he snapped at his stoic audience. "Some _help_, please!"

"Oh, sorry," Seamus said. Not moving from his spot, he merely held out his hand.

Gauging the distance from Seamus's hand to his own position on the ground, Ernie snuffed. "Think you could come a bit closer?"

"I didn't think you went that way, Ernie," Harry deadpanned.

"I do _not_—"

"Of course he doesn't," Ron muttered.

Harry elbowed him in the ribs, suppressing a snort and attempting (and failing at) a stern tone. "Let him up, or we'll be—"

"—fine…" Ron interrupted sourly. Surreptitiously, he flicked his wand behind his back.

With a drawn out snuff that made Ernie sound somewhat like a pig, he flew upward, as though the ground decided that it had had enough of him and thrown him away.

"You have to teach me what spell you used, mate," Seamus muttered to Ron, as he watched Ernie's course as he reached his peak and began falling. As Ernie crashed to the ground, he continued indifferently, "Looks extremely useful, it does."

"What's useful?" Hermione asked, once she was assured Ernie wasn't seriously injured. She was, after all, the fellow Head Girl, and she didn't want to have to answer any of McGonagall's biting questions if he was sent to the Hospital Wing with an imploded derriere.

"Nothing!" Ron said hastily, while Seamus blurted out, "Oranges!"

Hermione blinked. "Oranges?"

"Didn't you just ask what was full of juice?"

"…No…"

"Great!" Seamus interrupted, grabbing her by the elbow and herding her to the castle. "Well, we're late for class…" While Hermione began to hitch her book bag more securely around her shoulder, he turned around and exhaled in relief at Harry and Ron, who nodded and returned the gesture.

"What was that?" Ernie demanded, noticing the exchange.

"Oranges," Harry said calmly.

Another raindrop landed on Ernie's nose.

-x-

The following three classes went by sluggishly before it was time for lunch.

"—honestly, Hermione, what makes you think I'm not going to do my homework?" Ron wanted to know as he, Hermione, and the Godfather Gang found their places at their House Tables. "Because I am perfectly—"

"—liable to keep putting it off and grovel the answers off of me at the last minute?" Hermione asked coolly.

"I do not grovel," Ron began in clipped, indignant tones. "I—"

"—demand them?" Hermione suggested. "Take by force? Manipulation? Deception? Trickery? Dare I say, by stealing?"

"Don't forget bribery," Harry whispered.

"Harry, I thought once we got them together they would stop rowing and snog instead," Dean complained loudly.

At this statement, Ron's face rapidly ascended to an interesting shade of umber. "Who said that?"

"Mmmergdhfed," Neville said faintly, sinking down farther in his seat.

"Well, we all know that snogging won't be in the picture until someone starts to loosen up on the paranoia," Hermione said indifferently as she stirred the contents of her lunch bowl.

"I told you, I'm _not _paranoid! About anything!"

Before Hermione could respond, a smooth, "Hello, Hermione" came from behind her in the shape of Ernie McMillan. As was expected, Ron shot up like a basset hound on the hunt. The look he gave Ernie was not far off from a basset hound's on the hunt, either.

"He's not paranoid, he says, about anything, he says," Seamus said sarcastically.

Ernie gave Ron a mild look. "Er, hello to you too, Weasley," he said, noting the rapid, aggressive welcome the latter gave him, but determined to keep his good-Head-Boy status whilst in front of the High Table where all the teachers were currently eating their meals.

"Hello," Ron snarled.

Hermione shot Ron a warning look, which he heeded, although the basset hound look hadn't quite disappeared off of his face.

"What did you need, Ernie?"

"Professors Sprout and McGonagall want us to go to each House Table and announce to every Seventh Year that their Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses are after lunch and they will get all the necessary equipment they need there and such…"

Hermione blinked. "That doesn't sound so important. Can't you just announce it to the whole Great Hall?"

"But we _are_ co-Heads; we need to do it together—"

"Oh, fine…"

When Hermione had departed for the front of the Great Hall with Ernie, the Godfather Gang noted the increased temperature Ron's ears took on. "You all right, mate?" Harry asked. "Your ears have turned quite an attractive shade of rouge."

"Very attractive," Dean recurred.

"Hermione'll just _love_ it."

"Shut up, Seamus," Ron said, pouting comically.

The look of scandalized innocence on Seamus's face sent Neville into such a violent fit of giggles that half the contents of his milk jug spurted from his nostrils. "Dean said stuff too—"

"Yeah, but every time you bring Hermione into it, it reminds me unpleasantly of the last conversation we had about her and me getting her shirt off—"

"_What_?"

Harry calmly took a swig of his pumpkin juice before saying, "You sort of chose the wrong time to start listening to this conversation."

"_Sort of_?" Hermione repeated. "Firstly, does this mean that none of you were even listening to the announcement about our Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses?" When everyone present merely stared at her blankly, she rolled her eyes. "Secondly, what have you been telling them, Ron? None of what he's been telling you was true," she added quickly, looking around at Harry and the Godfather Gang, and for added measure, the surrounding people who might've heard the conversation. Holding a querulous finger in the air in what she clearly thought struck an impressive pose, she said, "Ron never took off my shirt and I've never even attempted to take off his!"

"We said nothing about you trying to take off his shirt—"

"…Mmmergdhfed…"

Hermione, seeming to realize a slight Freudian slip, reddened. "Of course you didn't, and of course I wouldn't—"

"SUNFLOWERS!" Dean said loudly, "Don't you absolutely love sunflowers, Harry?"

"Love them?" Harry replied. "I adore them—"

"—I don't adore this damn stiletto, however," Seamus complained, swinging his feet onto the bench, namely, Dean's lap, to more closely examine his disguised stiletto.

"FEET!" Dean roared, pointing at Seamus's feet as though they were horrible gnomes with ingrown problems. "Remove!" he ordered, poking Seamus none-too-gently in his stilettoed foot.

Hermione sighed and sank back down to her seat beside Ron, massaging her temples. "Weren't we all talking about what our Course supposedly was? Before… we started talking about sunflowers and Seamus's feet?"

A Hufflepuff boy who looked to be a fifth year suddenly leaned forward from his House Table. "I know this isn't any of my business," he said in a rather carrying voice, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville looked at him, "but speaking about flowers, me and my mates heard something about _someone's_ deflowering—"

"Ignoring!" Hermione said abruptly, turning away from him, whilst Harry, Dean, and Seamus made some not-so-subtle 'they haven't yet' gestures to the boy while they thought Hermione wasn't looking. "And you," she continued to the boy without looking at him, "deserve to be docked some points for spreading rumors—"

"Hey, it wasn't him," said one of the boy's friends indignantly. "Or any of us, for that matter, we heard it from—" the boy glanced at the one who had spoken first, and continued, "someone…"

Looking down the Hufflepuff table at a certain, slightly pudgy male sporting a Head Badge, Ron began to say, in ringing tones, "Ernie!" when a voice so smooth as if it had been candy-coated in poison floated down to their ears. "Whose deflowering are we speaking of, Puffyhuff?"

The first boy looked up at the sneering figure of Malfoy in annoyance. "It's _Hufflepuff_," he said.

"Whatever." Malfoy looked around at the Gryffindor Table while Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, cracking their knuckles. "I see you still hang around with this idiot bunch, Potter," he said, his eyes roving around at Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, before finally resting on Hermione. "Mother always said that time brings people around to their senses… but obviously she wasn't speaking about you."

"Really?" Harry said, irritated. "D'you think she was only referring to purebloods, or to people with hangovers? I suppose she would know a lot about those, seeing as some drinks and hangovers probably accounted to your conception."

Ron, Dean, and Seamus laughed, Hermione frowned disapprovingly, Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles some more, and Neville mmmergdhfeded in admiration.

"What're you doing here anyway, Malfoy?" Ron asked. "Don't you feel safer sitting over there at the Slytherin table with all your Death Eater pals?"

Malfoy's eyes gleamed before he seemed to realize that the teachers at the High Table were most likely painfully aware of the situation. "I know you're all responsible for _that_," he said, jerking his chin in the direction of a designated spot further down the Gryffindor table. By leaning slightly forward, Harry could see the profile of Cormac McLaggen, who, by what he could see, was still obviously smitten by Malfoy.

"What's that git still doing here?" Seamus asked. "He was a Seventh Year last year, shouldn't he have graduated already?"

Hermione looked worried. "We must have damaged his brain really well, but Professor Dumbledore mentioned something about it yesterday; that this was the second student in all of Hogwarts history that ever had to repeat a Year."

"He's repeating?" Dean asked incredulously.

A piece of yam fell from Neville's open mouth.

"But it was only one, stupid Euphoric Jinx, wasn't it?" Ron said. "That shouldn't have been enough to mess his brain up. Maybe he's always been an oaf—"

"Too many long-term jinxes and spells built up on a person can do something to them mentally," Hermione mused. "I'd read about things like it, but I've never actually seen it happen on someone I know."

"It's great that things are finally beginning to dawn on you," Malfoy interrupted in a nasty tone. "But I know what you and your big-shot brothers dreamt up last year, and I know it wasn't an accident when McLaggen tried to neck me every night at dinner—"

"And breakfast and lunch," Ron added fondly.

"So on the train, when I saw Weasley in the Prefects' Compartment," Malfoy continued, studiously ignoring Ron's comment, "I remembered that I never paid you back last year for what you did to me. But this year…" he looked down upon the six Gryffindors with a truly demented stare, "I will."

By this time, lunch had ended, and noticing the plates and goblets beginning to clear themselves, Malfoy nodded at Crabbe and Goyle. "Let's get out of here," he muttered.

Neville's plate had decided to empty the remainder of its contents onto Ron's lap, causing the aforementioned boy to yell angrily at the plate's owner (while gesturing in a rather provocative way at his lap), which caused him to miss the look Malfoy gave to an unsuspecting Hermione before he left the Great Hall.

-x-

"Come on, we're going to be late!"

"Well, Hermione, we wouldn't be so late if Neville's plate didn't just decide to throw up on me—"

Neville mmmergdhfeded. "How could I control what that plate did? It's not even mine, it belongs to the Kitchens!"

"Trifles, trifles," Ron said, waving an airy hand. "All I care about is my trousers getting stained with some of your oatmeal, making it look… well, never mind what it looks like, what were you doing eating oatmeal at lunch, anyway?"

"It's fiber," Neville said, rubbing his stomach proudly. "Gran says it's good for my heart. And my digestion." At this statement, his intestines chose to grumble rather loudly, and with a feeble laugh, he added, "It hasn't been too well, lately… it doesn't help that I always have to run everywhere—"

"Well, we wouldn't have to run if we weren't late for class!" A harried Hermione snapped. "And it's not just any class, it's our Individual Referentially-Chosen Course! Of all things, why'd we have to be late for this one?"

"Come on, Hermione," Seamus panted, massaging a stitch in his side. "It's supposed to be our fun class. We're allowed to take it easy on this one. Me mam told me she always used to skip out on it when she was a seventh year here."

"What class did she have?"

"M—"

"There's room 97!" Hermione pointed at a dilapidated-looking door a little way down the hallway. Running to it, she flung open the door and began, "So sorry we're late—"

There was a pause.

Dean looked around. "What? Why'd she stop apologizing?"

"I dunno," Harry replied honestly. Striding to the door, he looked inside. At the front of the classroom, beaming down at them, was Gilderoy Lockhart.

The large, blown-up portrait version of him, anyway.

While they were gaping in disgust—well, everyone but Hermione, anyway—at the face of a former teacher they weren't exactly jumping for joy over seeing, a jovial voice greeted them.

"Welcome, welcome, ees okay zat you are late, eet ees, after all, your first day, no?"

The thick, French accent was accompanied by none other than Professor Roffle, who scurried out from the depths of the classroom when the door opened.

"Aren't you—" Hermione began timidly.

"Yes!" Professor Roffle interrupted energetically. "I, am Professor Laurent Auguste Willard Louis Roffle, al'zough some of my friends like to call me Lawl, taking ze first initial of every letter."

"Er… Lawl Roffle?" Harry couldn't remember every hearing a distinctly non-French sounding name in his life.

"But of course you shall call me Professor Roffle, yes? And what shall I call you? I do not know who you are." His eyes roved around the Gryffindors, halting on Harry's forehead. "Ah, but of course I know you! Ze Boy 'oo Leeved! 'Arry Potter! So honored to be 'ave you learning in my class."

"The Boy Who Leaved?" Seamus muttered to Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, all four of whom snickered. Harry shot them an annoyed look akin to Hermione's.

"Er, yes, this class of which you speak," Harry said awkwardly, "is…?"

"Muggle Studies, of course!" Professor Roffle said reverently, looking up at Lockhart's poster with a glazed expression. "And zat, if you do not know who he ees, though frankly I would be ashamed of myself eef I deedn't, is Gilderoy Lockhart. 'Ee 'elped me very much with my Eenglish when I first came 'ere to Britain. 'Ee 'as been my greatest muse. Zat is why I honor him with a portrait, although eet ees also to eenspire me to be a great man like 'ee is one day."

"Was," Hermione whispered accusingly in Ron's direction.

Ron pretended to do up his shoe.

Wiping what seemed like an imaginary tear from his cheek, Professor Roffle seemed to shake himself and said, more briskly, "Go on, seet down, we must not waste precious time idly cheet-chatting at ze doorway…" He returned briskly to the front of the room, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville to find their seats and notice their classmates for the first time. "Oh, 'Arry? Ees eet all right eef I call you zat?"

"Yeah, Harry, is that all right? Because if it isn't, you should have told us, so we could tell everyone to call you Your Grace and tote you around on three Firebolts." Ron snickered.

"Should we bring around your slippers for you?" Dean whispered.

"Shut it," Harry whispered back, trying to stifle his own grin. Louder now, he added, "What is it, sir?"

"Could you please shut ze door beefore you seet down? Eet makes me uncomfortable teaching een an open room."

Complying, Harry swung the door, which didn't close all the way as expected. Instead, the wood of the door came in contact with the three noses of more latecomers, who frog-marched inside, massaging the aforementioned noses.

"'Oo are you?" the professor asked, staring over his horn-rimmed glasses at the newcomers.

"Oh, you've got to be joking me," said the first person who walked inside once he recognized the teacher.

"You've got to be joking _me_," Harry and Ron said together, once they recognized the speaker.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle glared daggers at him and Harry, until Ron turned away, declaring that he had seen enough poor, disfigured outcomes of inebriety, coming face-to-face with another member of the class.

"You've _got_ to be joking me," he said again in exasperation.

Ernie McMillan, in all his Head Boy glory, looked up at Ron with one eyebrow up.

"There ees no joking to be made in thees classroom," Professor Roffle cut in sharply, "unless eet ees done by me. Now seet down, you three, 'oo are you?"

Malfoy surveyed the professor with disgust. "Not if you teach what I think you're teaching," he said, starting to walk back out the door.

Ernie started up. "Here, now, Malfoy, you're a prefect. If you speak any worse about this class and leave this room I will speak exclusively with Professor Dumbledore about the relinquishing of your badge."

Malfoy stopped mid-step. Harry knew that Malfoy relished his Prefect status more than anything.

"Fine," he said, appearing unruffled. Crisply shutting the door behind him, he, Crabbe, and Goyle sat in desks the farthest away from Professor Roffle.

"'Oo _are_ you?" Professor Roffle repeated shrilly, beginning to look slightly more than annoyed.

"Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle," Malfoy said, sounding bored. If anyone had turned around to see his facial expression, however, they would find that he looked quite far from being bored. In fact, he had quite a mixture of expressions on his face that was so intimidating that was almost comical.

"That's quite a mixture of expressions on Malfoy's face," Harry whispered to Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville as they took their seats.

"It's so intimidating that it's almost comical," Dean agreed.

Hermione glanced back at Malfoy nervously, who was now giving her a glare, which, strangely enough, made him seem amused. "How can that look comical?" she asked disbelievingly. "Honestly, it looks like he wants to eat me."

"Who? Where? Eat what? Eat _you_? Eat how?" Ron demanded, turning around quickly.

"Shut up," Harry hissed, just as Professor Roffle's head snapped up to look around the classroom. Expecting reprimand, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all surprised to hear him say, "Frisson."

"Beg pardon?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

"Frisson!" Roffle repeated, bouncing out from behind his desk to stride around the room. A Ravenclaw seventh year whose name Harry could not place leaned so far backward off her chair to avoid Professor Roffle's goatee that she fell backwards. "Ze moment you all walked in, I felt something, but I was not sure what to call it. I remember now: frisson!" Roffle, who was expecting a strong, animated response, dropped his half-raised arms sulkily when he received none.

"What, exactly, is frisson?" Ernie asked, frowning. Everybody automatically turned around to look at Hermione, who was shrugging.

"I don't know what he's talking about," she said.

Glancing at the time, Roffle shook his head and said, "Again, we are cheet-chatting idly, as though we 'ave all ze time in ze world—which we do not. I must give you all ze syllabus…"

"Cl_ear_ly off his rocker, that bloke," Ron muttered in Harry's ear. "Shoved one too many of those plague things in the wall, probably fizzled his brain."

"It's 'plug', Ron," Hermione clarified. "And he isn't 'off his rocker'—he obviously has a very brilliant mind, that's all."

"He must be brilliant, Hermione," Seamus said, "if he knew a word that wasn't even in his native language that you didn't."

At this statement, Hermione made a tiny "humph!" and stuck her nose in the air, where it remained for the remainder of the class period.

"Now!" Roffle said, slapping a long yardstick on his desk and pointing at the blackboard on the wall with his wand, "I 'ave listed for you ze major projects we will be encountering over ze course of ze school year. We will be mainly focusing on reenacting Muggle plays—" here, a few squeals were made by some of the female element of the class, including Hermione, but Roffle coolly ignored them—"which we will be acting out for the whole school around Chreestmas time."

"D-does everybody have to have a speaking part?" Neville asked, already looking quite stricken with stage fright.

"Of course!" Roffle said loudly, looking gleeful. "Eet is one of ze perks of taking zis class—it will be extremely fun, yes? And eef we do not 'ave enough people—though I do not doubt that we 'ave enough—I will allow some of my younger students to take part as well."

"Can they take part _for_ us?" Neville ventured again.

"No."

"B-but why not? If we mess up will you lower our grades?"

The class at large groaned.

"Aw, Neville, why'd you have to go and give him that idea?"

"Neville, shut _up_!"

"Darn you, Neville!"

However, Professor Roffle merely smiled and said, "We shall see. As for the play we'll be doing? We shall discuss that next week, when we are all more comfortable with each other."

"How exactly is this going to help us? What is the _point_ of this class?" Malfoy interrupted. "I could be doing far better things than this right now, wait 'til my Father hears about this—"

Professor Roffle adjusted his glasses and peered more closely at Malfoy. "Malfoy, is it? Your fazzer—he was named Lucius, was she not?"

"What's it to you?"

Ernie cleared his throat loudly and pointedly eyed Malfoy's badge.

"I mean, why do you ask?" Malfoy asked, his rude sarcasm whittled down to a subtle blunt.

"Hmm," was all Roffle said. "Well zen, I can see why you are so quick to question authority." Before Malfoy could open his mouth to give another rude retort, Roffle clapped his hands together abruptly and said, "Any further questions you 'ave for me?"

While Roffle got to work answering questions, Hermione felt a strange feeling, as though she was being watched, and turned around to look at the back of the classroom where Malfoy and his cronies were sitting. Proving true to her suspicions, Malfoy had been staring a hole in the back of her head—literally, of course—and when he saw her notice, he inclined his head just slightly, acknowledging her, a shadow of a smirk flitting across his face. Hermione felt a slight, unfathomable shudder run down her spine.

Suddenly, she thought she knew what the word 'frisson' meant.

_**finite**_


	6. Twelfth Night on the first night

**Muggle Studies**

by: Faithful Wheezy

Two years later and I've finally updated! Sorry for both the wait and shortish chapter. If you need a refresher on this story up to this point, basically, our main characters are "enjoying" their first day of Seventh Year back at Hogwarts. So far, the Godfather Gang, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie encountered slight disaster in Herbology and have just discovered that their "Individual Referentially-Chosen Courses" class is non-other than Muggle Studies, a class taught by Professor Lawl Roffle (who is already thought by many to have lost it) and where our heroes are forced to reckon with not only Ernie, but Malfoy and his posse. And here is where we begin our story.

Please review!

Disclaimer: See prologue.

**Five: Twelfth Night on the first night  
**

_While Roffle got to work answering questions, Hermione felt a strange feeling—as though she was being watched—and turned around to look at the back of the classroom where Malfoy and his cronies were sitting. Proving true to her suspicions, Malfoy had been staring a hole in the back of her head—figuratively, of course—and when he saw her notice, he inclined his head just slightly, acknowledging her, a shadow of a smirk flitting across his face. Hermione felt a slight, unfathomable shudder run down her spine._

_Suddenly, she thought she knew what the word 'frisson' meant._

Misinterpreting the tense silence that followed as the class's full comprehension of his course so far, Professor Laurent August Willard Louis Roffle clapped both of his hands together in an overly enthusiastic way. "_D'accord_! Now zat eet seems we are all on ze same page, let us get back to the topic on wheech we were discussing." Roffle began to pace the room in contemplation, but caught the sight of his massive Gilderoy Lockhart poster and paused a moment to sigh up at it. Harry and Ron shared an awkward glance, while Hermione nodded approvingly at Professor Roffle as if there was nothing more she could agree on with him. Finally snapping out his reverie, Professor Roffle turned back to the class.

"As you might already know, Muggles study a great deal of things wheech we don't even touch upon in Wizarding School," he began, starting to look incredibly excited. "We are going to start slow for ze time being. Now, een ze cupboard in ze corner of ze room, I have all sorts of books which we are going to use thees year." Roffle pointed his wand at the aforementioned closet to unlock and open it as Hermione had a minor seizure in her seat in anticipation.

Suddenly, paperback novels began flying out of the cupboard, with one landing before each student.

"We will start the year out by studying Shakespeare," the professor continued. "Now, 'oo in here is familiar with thees great bard?" Not unsurprisingly, Hermione's was the fastest of the few hands to make it into the air. "What is your name, _mon chou_?" he asked her.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Well, Mademoiselle Granger, what can you tell me about Shakespeare?"

"For starters, sir, William Shakespeare is one of the most identifiable icons in England!" she said. "He is a huge influence on Muggle literature—what with his incredible wit and lovely recreations of old stories—and even diction, having invented many important words in the English language, like 'obscene' and 'suspicious,' and even phrases like 'one that loved not wisely, but too well.'"

"Fantastic!" Professor Roffle cried, pronouncing it like 'fantastique.' "Five points to Gryffindor!"

"Brilliant, Hermione," Seamus whispered from a couple seats down, while Ron gave her a wink that made her blush.

Malfoy made a scathing sound from the back of the room. "She's a _Mud_—" he coughed nervously at the back of Ernie's head. "—Muggleborn! She has an unfair advantage over Purebloods like myself, don't you think?"

"What was that you were going to say there, Malfoy?" Ernie asked disapprovingly while Ron whirled round in his chair, his hands already forming the shape of Malfoy's neck.

"It's fine," Hermione murmured to him, albeit nervously, remembering how Malfoy had been looking at her a few minutes before. Ron was about to thoroughly ignore her and make a lunge for it when Professor Roffle, seemingly oblivious of it all, interrupted.

"Een front of you ees ze play, _Twelfth Night_. Tonight, I want you all to read and study ze First Act tonight so we can discuss eet tomorrow. Any questions? …Yes, you, with ze red hair."

"Er, yeah… what's an Act?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands.

-x-

Draco Malfoy was already out of his seat, his shoulder roughly shoving that of Harry's, and one foot halfway out the door the second before the bells rang, signifying the end of their Muggle Studies period. He snarled. He, the descendant of one of the purest bloodlines in all of Britain, in a _Muggle _Studies class! And just being in the same room as those Gryffin-dorks was enough to make him feel as though he had atherosclerosis.

He was so angry at that raggedy bunch of misfits that he didn't even notice how cliché he was being for calling them a "raggedy bunch of misfits." Despite the summer break, McLaggen had already proven to be a huge burden, always owling and attempting to Floo into his house—Malfoy didn't know it, but what McLaggen was trying to do was very similar to Ron and Hermione's summer plight. The only difference was… it was _McLaggen_. And now that school had begun, McLaggen would have easy access to as much Draco as he wanted.

There were at least three things wrong with this picture:

1. McLaggen was a Gryffindor. Ravenclaws were acceptable. Hufflepuffs, undesirable, but bearable. But a _Gryffindor_?

2. McLaggen had some Muggle roots somewhere along his bloodline. Malfoy knew he was at least worth a pureblood, though admittedly it was becoming difficult finding a pureblood that wasn't related to him in one way or another. Oh well, minor setback.

As for the third thing? A minor detail really…

3. DRACO MALFOY WAS ABOUT AS STRAIGHT AS FIVE CARDS OF SEQUENTIAL RANK IN POKER. Not that he knew what poker was, of course, Muggle game that it is. Pshaw.

They, the six Gryffindors in front of him, _they _were to blame for all of this madness. He could remember the exact moment all this misery began…

_FLASHBACK_

Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table, buttering a roll in his seat next to Crabbe and across from Pansy Parkinson. He couldn't help but notice that a few too many Weasleys kept looking back and forth at him from where they sat on the Gryffindor end. Shrugging, he turned his attention to a carton of milk, which was proving difficult to open—and when he finally managed to tear the carton open, its contents splashed right into Professor Flitwick's face. Meanwhile…

…Bill was leaning across the Gryffindor table to pour a phial of Amortentia into McLaggen's goblet, who was looking at Hermione with whining eyes.

"Why do you have a bag over your head?"

Hermione stalled for time, declaring that she was wearing the sack as a result of playing truth or dare.

"Can I play too?"

Bill and Charlie looked at each other. "You know what, McLaggen?" Bill said, after a moment, "Why not? Truth or dare, you?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to chug down your pumpkin juice," Charlie said, smirking, "and…"

"And look at the Slytherin table!" prompted Bill.

McLaggen shrugged. He chugged down his pumpkin juice and immediately turned around—but he didn't have to look far. Draco Malfoy was being frog marched to the Staff Table by a rather angry looking Professor Flitwick, who seemed to be drenched in milk.

McLaggen's pupils dilated and retracted as he focused on Malfoy's face.

_END FLASHBACK_

It didn't seem like much to get worked over about, a crazy Gryffindor cursed to be "in love" with Malfoy (or blessed? Well either way it didn't matter, Malfoy was definitely cursed), but Malfoy had a reputation to uphold.

During the end of last year, McLaggen had nearly successfully marked Malfoy with a hickey five times, and it had taken him months to get over the emotional scarring he swore, as an emotionless-soon-to-be-the-favorite-of-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (and severely abusing his author's hyphen key), he never had. The Slytherins who used to find him as a source of fear now found him to be a source of entertainment. Where they used to watch him warily out of submission, they now watched him in anticipation, waiting to see where McLaggen would spring, unannounced, and laugh at Malfoy's freaked reaction.

In short? Malfoy was a laughing stock who had a creepy stalker who tried to bed him each night. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of their dirty-veined friends had to pay, and he thought he had a pretty good idea for some revenge.

He smirked, and turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Come on," he said. "Let's go find Zabini."

-x-

"—'_If music be the food of love, play on;/ Give me excess of it, that sur-surfeiting,/ The appetite may sicken and so die'…_"

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND A WORD OF THIS!" Seamus roared, startling Neville, who had been quietly reading aloud to himself, into silence.

"I mean, what is…" Dean stuck his nose back into _Twelfth Night_ to check, "what is this Orsino guy going on about? Music being the 'food of love'?"

Ron groaned and shook the small, paperback novel. "And we're only on the first page!"

"The first scene of the first page," Harry said sadly.

Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville all had a free period after Muggle Studies, and were sitting in a circle in the Gryffindor common room, struggling to understand _Twelfth Night_.

"What does '_soe'er' _even _mean_?" Neville sighed, feeling stupider than usual.

"I think it's the abbreviated form of 'soever'?" Harry shrugged. "As in 'whatsoever'?"

This was obviously a mistake of him to say—not because he was wrong, but because…

"OOF!"

Ron, Dean, Seamus (with as much grace as he could muster considering his ever present stiletto), and Neville instantly tackled Harry with cries of "YOU USED TO LIVE IN THE MUGGLE WORLD." "Help us!" "You went to Muggle school, didn't you, Harry?" "Yeah, I'll bet you studied Shakespeare all the time in primary!" and, "Har—OUCH!—mmmergdhfed!"

Harry, in reply, struggled for breath under the weight of four seventeen-year-old boys.

Ron, being his best friend, intelligently realized that Harry probably needed to breathe in order to make any responses. "You guys," he said, "Harry probably needs to breathe in order to make any responses."

"Oh right. Up we get!"

"Wait, Seamus, watch your foot…"

"AHHH!" Harry roared, drawing his injured leg up to his torso. "Maybe I _don't_ want to answer any of your bloody questions!"

"Harry, I'm sorry mate," Seamus said with an anxious face.

After Harry had regained control of his lungs and most of the feeling in his upper thigh where Seamus had accidentally stabbed him, he sat up and wheezed. "Dean, Seamus, you two are Half-bloods, didn't you learn any of this with your Muggle parent?"

Dean and Seamus each extended their preferred method of denial.

"My primary school was all about diagraming sentences and identifying pronouns and verbs and nouns," Dean explained. "Not about reading Shakespeare."

"Same here," Seamus added. "And me dad was more of the blue-collar, hard-working type of guy, I don't think I've ever seen him read anything other than the newspaper." He paused. "Maybe."

Harry turned to Ron and Neville. "And you two've never even heard of Shakespeare?"

"The ups and downs of being a Pureblood, Harry," Ron replied.

Harry sighed. Aunt Petunia, whenever there were no neighbors to spy on and Uncle Vernon and Dudley were out of the house, would crack open some of Shakespeare's plays and leave them around various places of the house when she was out. From the time he was young, Harry would take a peek at the books and read them whenever he had the house to himself because he had the impression that Aunt Petunia would hate it if she knew… and Harry had always taken any chance of pissing his aunt off readily. And not only that: he never studied Shakespeare in primary school either, but he had grown to understand many of Shakespeare's works after Petunia had held one-too-many book club meetings at home.

"I mean," he said heavily, "I reckon I know some stuff. But it's just our Individual Referentially-Chosen Course—blimey, that's long, they should really think of a catchier term—why should we put that much work into it?"

_Oh great._ Ron froze. Was that Hermione's voice he just heard again? _Leave it to Ernie use Ancient Runes in a casual conversation._ Although her voice eventually faded into a humming sound in the back of his head, Ron was again reminded of how much more intelligent Ernie was, and instead of becoming angry or paranoid—which was a first—he held up _Twelfth Night_. He would fight a different kind of battle. "Harry," he said, "Hermione is both a Muggleborn and Head Girl—two things which would already make her very interested in how we do in Muggle studies. But she's my girlfriend now." His voice took on a tone of pleading. "I need to impress her this time. Before, it was kind of just…"

"…a fluke?" Dean finished, grinning. "Of course it wasn't, you smooth operator," he added hastily as Ron glared at him.

"Well, I need to do well," Neville ventured, trembling a little. "Professor Roffle _scares_ me. With his hair…"

"Didn't you take a load of that Gilderoy Lockhart poster in the classroom, Harry?" Seamus said.

"...and his ties, he wore four of them _together_, what's up with that?"

"Oh yeah," Harry remembered.

"...and his accent! Those Beauxbaton girls did _not_ sound like that when they were here a few years ago..."

"I guess we should put some effort in this class after all." And as Ron held out the book again, looking positively confused, Harry began to slowly explain parts of the play to his friends. After a few moments of tedious reading, Harry broke off and remembered something from his aunt's _Twelfth Night_ book club lecture years ago. _Maybe this will be useful after all_, he thought, filing away the information he had just remembered for later. _But where is Hermione when you need her?_

-x-

While the Godfather Gang and Ron had a free period, Hermione had Ancient Runes. Unfortunately, as Ancient Runes was both exclusive and difficult, only one class was offered—which meant that Ernie had Ancient Runes with her, too.

"Looks like we'll be spending a lot of time together this year, Hermione," Ernie said cheerfully as they climbed up the stairs to the sixth floor.

"Looks like it," Hermione answered. Honestly, Ernie wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't so bloody annoying. Maybe it was a phase and he'd get bored with her soon? Hopefully.

"_Eihwaz_," Ernie continued, unaware that his persistence was unwelcome.

_Oh great_, Hermione thought. _Leave it to Ernie use Ancient Runes in a casual conversation._ "I think you mean '_ehwaz_,' actually," she said, understanding what he had meant.

"My mistake." Misinterpreting her correction as an invitation, Ernie pressed on. "Honestly, though, Hermione, if you want to do a good job as Head Girl, you're going to need to work in much better harmony with me."

_Much better harmony?_ Hermione thought incredulously. "Oh, it's only the first day back," she said wearily. However, the old, goody-two-shoes-bookworm instinct in her, which had been muffled a bit from her years of friendship with Harry and Ron, slowly began to kick back in. It was still possible that she, Hermione, could become the best Head Girl Hogwarts had ever seen, wasn't it? "I'm… I'm sorry," she tried, "I guess I'm just really tired. I didn't get that much sleep last night." Was it possible that Harry and Ron really were keeping her from her fullest potential?

"You really shouldn't just let your friends barge in like that, so late at night," Ernie responded. "You should consider some… guidelines. Distractions, the lot of them. Especially," he added quietly, "especially that boyfriend of yours."

Hermione frowned, but was unable to make a comment as the two of them had reached the Ancient Runes classroom, at the front of which Professor Bathsheda Babbling was standing, looking quite stern.

"As Head Boy and Girl, I would expect you two to at least get to class on time, if not earlier," she said quite crisply, and not babbling at all. "Please sit down, we have much to go over. Now, as we know, this ancient Germanic alphabet was used all over northern Europe as early as 100 B.C..."

Having heard this particular lecture three times before as Professor Babbling always used it to introduce the subject to new students, Hermione allowed herself to drift off for a few moments in contemplation. It was only her first day back and she was already late to class. A minor discretion at the moment, but what if she kept allowing herself to let it happen? No. Hermione Granger would _not_ let her Head Girl status be taken away from her. Not if she could help it. "_Ehwaz_," she murmured quietly to herself. "Partnership…"

_**finite**_


	7. Smoke and mirrors

**Muggle Studies**

by: Faithful Wheezy

Hey guys, just so you know I re-edited _Arithmancy_ so that the writing is a bit better, so if you feel like being nostalgic I won't be half as embarrassed if you decide to read it again, haha.

Now this chapter is more of a set up for later chapters involving _pranks, revenge, and Godfather Gang-liness_, and in my opinion, is a really important part in the narrative. In addition, it introduces quite a bit of runic symbols. You never know—they might carry foreshadowing? But you didn't hear that from me. Ahem. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: See prologue.

**Six: Smoke and mirrors  
**

_Having heard this particular lecture three times before as Professor Babbling always used it to introduce the subject to new students, Hermione allowed herself to drift off for a few moments in contemplation. It was only her first day back and she was already late to class. A minor discretion at the moment, but what if she kept allowing herself to let it happen? No. Hermione Granger would not let her Head Girl status be taken away from her. Not if she could help it. "Ehwaz," she murmured quietly to herself. "Partnership…"_

"Good to know you at least paid attention to my lectures _last_ year, Ms. Granger," Professor Babbling said, irked, noticing Hermione's unwarranted interruption.

"Sorry, professor," Hermione said meekly. Merlin, she couldn't even whisper without getting in trouble, these days! Maybe Ernie was right after all.

Momentarily distracted from her annual introductory speech to Ancient Runes, Professor Babbling, contrary to her name, swiftly moved on to her next topic.

"Runic Divination," said she, striding to the blackboard. Hermione furrowed her brow as excited murmurs broke out in the back of the classroom. Meanwhile, Babbling drew two runes on the board: one that resembled an upside-down chicken's foot, and another that resembled a lopsided capital letter "F." Hermione recognized them as the runic symbols for _algiz_ and _ansuz_.

"As those of you have taken my class before may know, Ancient Runes here at Hogwarts concentrates on a different area of study each year. This year's concentration shall be Runic Divination.

"As you may have learned from Professor Binns in History of Magic," the professor continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that hardly anybody listened to Professor Binns since he died, "runes have served witches and wizards in many fields of magic for years, but most notably in Divination. Now, can anyone tell me what the two runes on the board are, and what they stand for?"

Naturally, Hermione's hand swept the air (in what she thought was record time), but what she wasn't expecting was the involuntary high-five that occurred mid-air as it happened.

_SMACK!_

After getting over the initial confusion as to how she managed to high-five someone while trying to answer a question, Hermione looked over and located the culprit: Ernie, who had raised a hand to answer the professor himself.

Ernie was wearing an expression that was probably quite similar to hers—one of anticipation for answering a question mixed with surprise—but since he didn't pull his hand away from the contact, Hermione decided to take the liberty to and withdrew, feeling awkward.

"Yes, Macmillan?"

"You've drawn the merkstave symbol for _algiz_; merkstave meaning—" here, he turned to the members taking Ancient Runes for the first time, "—meaning that the symbol has been drawn upside down. Thus, the meaning of the rune takes on the opposite, usually negative meaning from the original rune, which is drawn right-side-up. Sorry if that was confusing."

"_Thank_ you, Ernie, though I'm sure by now the first-year members have at least read over their basic course introduction material over the summer," Babbling said, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, evidently used to this behavior. The students taking the class for the first time—mostly Third Years—looked at each other guiltily. "Please continue on with the original question I asked you: what are those two runes and what do they stand for?"

Ernie had the decency to look sheepish. "Er, right. Well, since _algiz_ usually means 'protection,' upside-down—or merkstave—it means . . . 'warning,' I believe."

"And the other?"

"Right, the second one is _ansuz_, which stands for some sort of 'revealing message.'"

Professor Babbling nodded, looking as though she was unwillingly impressed by Ernie's knowledge. "Good, Mr. Macmillan, five points to Hufflepuff."

Hermione felt the same. "Good work," she whispered to him grudgingly.

Though Ernie had felt pleased at impressing Professor Babbling, who was widely known around the class as an irritable and unable to impress, he outright grinned at Hermione's statement when she wasn't looking.

Professor Babbling, however, strode to the front of the classroom and crossed her arms.

"Warnings. Revelations," she said. "Students, these are dark times we're in; these will be times of great uncertainty, confusion, and chaos. You must realize that You-Know-Who is out there, probably buying his time, and if it's anything like last time, he will be incredibly tricky."

"Why is she telling us this?" Ernie whispered to Hermione, frowning. "It's not her job—"

"Shh!" Hermione waved an impatient hand; hanging on to Babbling's every word.

"He can deceive us," she was saying. "He can reel in the people we love most without us realizing it—he can even take _you_ without you knowing it."

Hermione frowned; this was starting to feel a bit familiar.

A small Third Year burst out into uncontrollable coughs, but the professor went on.

"So as you can see, Runic Divination, if done right, can serve as an utmost help in these troubled times. Ah—" she said, as a student in the back of the room started to scoff, "I put a lot of store in Runic Divination. You could say I have had … personal experience with its accuracy. And that's all I have to say on the matter." The professor paused, as though daring someone to contradict her. When no opposition came, she sat down at her desk and said, "Now that we're all on the same page, I'd like for you to take out your textbook and read the first chapter of book four, the section over Runic Divination, for the remainder of the class period."

Hermione sat in her seat, feeling her jaw going stiff. She _hated_ Divination. She walked out on Professor Trelawney in her own Third Year, didn't she? Hermione had been looking forward to a year full of difficult translations, but at the looks of it, it seemed like it was going to be pretty little guesswork all year. And no matter how impressive Professor Babbling had sounded a few moments ago, talking about doom and destruction—that was all Divination was, wasn't it—guesswork; smoke and mirrors, hiding behind a guise of fear?

"Miss Granger, is there something the matter?"

"Sorry!" Hermione said, snapping out of the reverie she had been entering so frequently that day.

Ernie gave her a strange look as he took out _Decoding the Ancient Whispers_ by Pythia Vates and began reading.

-x-

"Miss Granger, a word before you go to your next class."

Hermione turned around nervously. She wasn't sure whether to feel relief being saved from walking to her next class with Ernie, or anxiety at having a private audience with her stern teacher. She decided on the latter.

"Erm, yes, Professor?"

Professor Babbling looked at Hermione over the massive runic book she had been poring over during the silent class period. "I know it's much too early to make such a statement, but you're not quite… acting like yourself. For one thing, in the past three years you've taken my class I've never seen you late before."

"If I may, ma'am," Hermione ventured timidly, "it's quite a walk from Muggle Studies."

"Nonsense. I know for a fact that Miss Lisa Turpin just came from that class, herself. She was carrying some sort of… Muggle text or other. But she came on time."

Hermione shifted on her feet.

"I apologize, ma'am, it won't happen again."

Professor Babbling shut her book with a snap. "I expect nothing less from a Head Girl."

Hermione bit her lip and walked out of the room, but not before catching a glimpse of the symbols of _algiz_ and _ansuz_ on the blackboard.

-x-

"Hermione! Hey—HERMIONE!"

Hermione turned around, startled. _What is the matter with me?_ she thought to herself bitterly, remembering what Bill and Charlie had said about controlling the thoughts Ron could hear.

Evidently Ron didn't hear a word, as he, along with Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, were waving to her from the bottom of a spiral staircase.

"Hey, guys!" she called to them, deciding to cast her worries aside for the moment. "Are you guys headed to Defense against the Dark Arts?"

She smiled as Ron gave her a peck on the cheek as she reached them, and together the six of them made for their Defense against the Dark Arts class.

"What d'you think Humptrumpet's going to be like?" Harry wondered out loud. "Looks like an interesting bloke."

"Looks like we'll find out, won't we?" Ron said, and he opened the classroom door.

Dean looked inside, and groaned. "Perfect."

Though Professor Humptrumpet was not yet in the room, several sneering classmates sporting green-and-silver striped neckties were.

"I forgot we were taking Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins," Seamus said wearily; though whether the weariness was from having a class with Death Eater-spawn or from hobbling around for the past two days on a stiletto, his friends couldn't tell. "Kind of ironic though, innit? That we're learning how to defend ourselves from the Dark Arts _with_ the very people who encourage it."

"It's been that way for years, haven't you noticed?" Harry replied. "Dumbledore takes the mickey out of it, I reckon."

"Well, there's one good thing I can see in this," Ron said.

"What?" Harry and Hermione said together, looking surprised.

Ron looked around for a moment before saying, "Looks like Malfoy isn't taking Defense against the Dark Arts this year."

"_What_?"

The Gryffindors looked around, their heads turning rapidly as they inspected each individual Slytherin's face.

"Ron, you're _right_," Hermione said, and she half-hugged him, feeling relief sink down her spine.

Harry looked at Hermione quizzically as he took a desk.

"I'm willing to bet I hate him more than Hermione does," he whispered to Dean, Seamus, and Neville as Ron bartered with Parvati Patil for her seat. "She looks a bit too pleased that Malfoy isn't here, don't you think?"

"I guess," Seamus said noncommittally. "But I mean, he's a right annoying git, isn't he? I'm pleased, too."

"Yeah, maybe . . ."

Any further discussion on the matter came to a halt as Professor Humptrumpet entered the room.

Just as Harry had predicted the day before, Professor Humptrumpet seemed to be a strong man trapped inside an old man's body. His steps were quick and strong; he wasn't breathing heavily, and he needed no cane.

"Quiet down," he said in a surprisingly carrying voice, once he reached the front of the classroom. He surveyed his pupils in what looked like a rather judgmental eye before speaking further.

"As you should already know," he said, "my name is Professor Humptrumpet, and—" he broke off, looking confused. "This is my class of Seventh Years, right?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered.

"Well then," Humptrumpet continued, "I'll be teaching you some advanced Defense against the Dark Arts this year. Just a bit of a warning though: I teach both in and out of the classroom. Defending yourself is the number one, most important thing in life all of you will ever learn, and I don't believe a classroom should limit your learning experience."

As expected, Hermione quivered with excitement. Theodore Nott, on the other hand, seemed to disagree.

"Is that even allowed?" he asked in a bored voice.

Humptrumpet squinted at Nott. "Eh, what's that?"

"I said," Nott said, raising his voice, "is that even allowed, for you to teach outside of class?"

The professor fumbled around for his moldy ear trumpet for a moment before sticking it in his ear. "Speak up!"

"_Is that allowed?_"

"What's that?"

"ARE—YOU—ALLOWED—TO TEACH US—OUTSIDE OF—CLASS," Nott bellowed.

"Eh?"

Nott put his head on his desk. "Never mind."

Harry and Ron (who was now sitting next to him as Parvati consented to trade seats) shook with laughter.

"Well, does anyone else have any unnecessary questions before we continue, just so we can get them out of the way?" Humptrumpet said. "Mind, you'll have to speak up quite a bit."

"How's, 'how old are you anyway?'" Pansy Parkinson said to Millicent Bulstrode, looking as though she felt extremely clever. Her hulking classmate sniggered.

"Older'n Dumbledore, and we can leave it at that," Professor Humptrumpet told her at once. Pansy looked taken aback that he had heard her at all. "Anything else?"

Just as Ron was about to register his disbelief that anyone could be older than Dumbledore at all, the door flew open.

"Who are you?" Professor Humptrumpet asked, looking cross. "Slytherins, are you? Five points from Slytherin each, you're nearly five minutes late."

Hermione crossed her fingers under her desk and waited a few seconds before turning around to see who the latecomers were, but luck seemed to not be on her side today.

In marched Draco Malfoy followed by Blaise Zabini, both wearing identical Slytherin neckties and mean facial expressions.

"Spoke too soon, I think," Ron said in a low voice.

"Really?" Harry replied sarcastically. "Two classes with him is two classes too much."

"Say that five times fast," Neville whispered to them a few seats over. "Two-classes-with-him-is-two-classes-too-much, two-classes-with-him-is—"

"That's not a tongue twister, Neville," Hermione told him patiently.

"Mmmergdhfed."

"Why are you boys late?" Humptrumpet was asking them as they took their seats.

"We had to have a word with Professor Snape," Zabini said, a little too smoothly.

"He gives his apologies," Malfoy added.

"I'm sure he did," Humptrumpet said. "Anyway, as I was saying before, you're never going to know when you are going to learn something—or even when you are getting tested. I know you all were taught by Alastor Moody a few years ago—"

"By an imposter, at least," Harry muttered under his breath.

"—and apart from being a good friend of mine, that man knows his stuff when it comes to the Dark Arts. So now, I'll be employing his beloved motif of 'Constant Vigilance' in a more practical manner. _Always be prepared_."

The class had started buzzing at his words by this point, but as Humptrumpet was hard of hearing, or at least, selectively so, he pressed on.

"I know that Professor Lupin has adequately prepared you on all beings of the lesser-human form? Grindylows, kappas, the like?" As many students—all Gryffindors—nodded eagerly, he said, "Very good. I taught him when he was a lad. Anyway, I will be teaching you Defense on a more advanced level: defense against humans.

"You see, we humans are tricky little codgers. We're very good at lying, acting, and manipulation. Those who you think are your friends could very well be your enemies."

Ron jokingly held his fingers in a cross at Harry, who in turn pretended to stab Ron in the neck with his quill. "Ron! Harry," Hermione said disapprovingly, but their professor was blissfully unaware.

Knowing that resistance was futile, Hermione chewed on the end of her quill watching Harry and Ron horse around. It was odd, really: Professor Babbling had just given them a lecture almost exactly to the one Professor Humptrumpet was now talking about: manipulation, lying, friends who are really enemies… was there a reason?

Humptrumpet had finally noticed Harry and Ron.

"You aren't taking me seriously now, are you?" he asked. "Sometimes, you won't feel like taking your enemies seriously either. Their attacks can start out quite trivial, you know. One day you'll wake up, levitating in your bed and you'll just laugh and thank them for allowing you to defy gravity for a few moments of your day. Or you might lose most of your powers of speech. Trivial, right?" It was a rhetorical question. "Wrong! Don't lower your defenses around what may seem like harmless attacks, because that will only strengthen your opponent. Do you understand?"

The silence the class gave was enough affirmation for the professor.

"Good. That concludes your lesson for the day."

"What?" Hermione said, looking around in confusion as the Slytherins began packing their supplies. "Sir, we've only been in class for fifteen minutes."

"Eh?" Professor Humptrumpet said, stuffing his trumpet into his ear.

"WE HAVEN'T BEEN IN CLASS FOR THE FULL PERIOD, SIR," Hermione yelled as politely as she could.

Humptrumpet stowed his hearing aid back under his robes. "I've said all I need to say today," he said. "Class dismissed."

"But—"

"Come _on_, Hermione," Ron said firmly, taking her by the elbow and steering her out the classroom.

Had Hermione not stayed behind to question Professor Humptrumpet, she, Ron, and the Godfather Gang would have seen the way Malfoy's face took on a look of malevolent glee during Humptrumpet's short lecture, or the way he exchanged a glance with Zabini.

But Hermione being Hermione, she questioned Professor Humptrumpet for dismissing the class early; and she, Ron, and the Godfather Gang missed everything.

On their way out the classroom, Neville tripped on nothing and his books and loose pieces of parchment scattered across the hall. Had his friends not bent down to help them, they would have seen Malfoy and Zabini, who were halfway down the corridor, glance back at them and start whispering vehemently.

But Neville being Neville, he did indeed trip on nothing, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus bent down to help collect his belongings, and they missed everything.

As soon as they stood up, Malfoy and Zabini had rounded the corner.

"I'm starving," Ron said.

_**finite**_

Please don't forget to review! Reviews are my inspiration.

Juuust saying.


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